Blackwand Chronicles
by S'TarKan
Summary: Dumbledore, despite his misgivings, offers an opportunity to a boy temporarily lost in the muggle world. There are some disquieting similarities to another student he remembers from before... [rating may increase later in the story.]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Prologue

The old man frowned as he walked down the sterile corridor. He was thinking of another time, decades ago, and the similarities were disturbing. The Manchester Child Protective Services placement center had a fancier name, but it was a home for orphans and displaced children nonetheless.

It disturbed him to see how Muggles sometimes treated their children, and he knew of at least one occasion where that neglect had enormous consequences. He shook his head and he reached for the doorknob of room fifteen. _It does not do to dwell overlong upon the past_, his brother had told him more than once.

The door opened into a small room with two metal-framed beds and a cracked tile floor. A pair of large cabinets rounded out the furnishings. The walls were painted in what might have once been off-white. Now, they were faded into grey dinginess. One of the beds was occupied, and a pair of dark eyes locked onto his.

The eyes belonged to a smallish boy wearing grey sweatpants and a faded Manchester United tee-shirt. A pair of battered fatigue boots leaned against the foot of the bed.

The boy frowned in puzzlement and the old man was struck by just how young he looked. With his wiry build he could pass for eleven, rather than fourteen. That was at least one thing working in their favor.

"Good afternoon, Malcolm."

The boy nodded warily, eyes alight with curiosity. "Good afternoon. Are you one of the social workers?" he asked curiously, eying the old man's polyester leisure suit.

"No Malcolm, I am not. I understand that they are still attempting to locate your relatives."

The boy shrugged. "Da never mentioned any brothers and sisters. I never really heard much from my mum's side of the family."

"I see." The boy's voice wasn't cold, but he didn't seem that broken up either. _Is he that self-sufficient, or does he simply not care?_ The old man wondered, again feeling distinctly uneasy. "Do you have any immediate plans for your future?"

The boy shrugged again. "I still have a few years before I can enlist. Other than that, not really." His voice was flat and the old man felt a twinge of pity. _It is one thing to be careful, and it is another to make a worse mistake out of caution._

"Malcolm, I believe I can offer you an alternative for your education," Dumbledore said, with a twinkle returning to his bright blue eyes.

Chapter 1

At first, Malcolm thought his visitor was an escapee from a lunatic asylum.

When the old man started nattering on about wizard and witches, he thought maybe this was some sort of elaborate prank. He didn't think he was too well liked by the other wards of the state, but he couldn't imagine any of them going to the trouble of hiring a professional actor to make a fool out of him.

When the old man in his ridiculous clothes started in about him being a wizard, he refused to give the prankster any satisfaction, and merely raised one eyebrow. Nigel had always told him "Never pass up an opportunity to keep your mouth shut." Thinking about Nigel started a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, and Malcom found it easier to keep a stony countenance.

When the old man frowned and closed the door behind himself, Malcolm wondered if his visitor was some kind of sick git. He tensed up and was wishing he'd left his boots on when the old codger pulled a long wooden stick out of his jacket. A stream of butterflies flew out of the end of the wand, and Malcolm felt his jaw drop. They swirled around the room and he could feel their wings brushing his face and his hair.

The old man smiled and he noticed how oddly the eyes twinkled behind the half-moon reading glasses. "Yes, Malcolm, it's all real. Magic is all around us. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster at Hogwarts, a school where we teach young wizards and witches."

The boy's eyes were darting nervously, following the rainbow of wings, until he dismissed them with a twitch of his wand. He blinked and focused on his visitor again. "Uh, what does that have to do with me?"

The old man grinned, and beard or not, he seemed to have lost two or three decades as his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well, I've come to offer you a position in the fall term."

Malcolm's mouth twisted sourly. "Right, I'm about as magical as a fried egg sandwich."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I daresay there is a good bit of magic in a well made sandwich, but I digress. Have you ever noticed anything… unusual… happen around yourself? Especially when you were upset or angry?"

Malcolm thought back to his days at the embassy. He started to shake his head, but a thought occurred to him. "There have been a couple of times people when looking for me, but had trouble finding me…" he shook his head. "Maybe."

Dumbledore nodded. "It's not unusual for an untrained wizard to engage in bouts of 'Accidental Magic', when their talents respond to need and emotion, rather than under conscious control. When you have begun your education, that energy will be channeled in a more controlled fashion."

"You're serious?"

"Absolutely."

The boy frowned again and sighed. "How much does this school cost? After plane fare back to England I don't have a lot-"

The old man waved his hand. "Your tuition is covered," he said. He produced a leather bag from inside his jacket. "We have a fund to purchase robes and school supplies for those who require assistance." He handed the bag to Malcolm.

"Thanks," he said as the sense of unreality crept over him again. _Maybe I'm going to wake up and find out I've been sick with a fever…_

The old man smiled. "You can purchase what you need at Diagon Alley. I am prepared to take you there this afternoon, but there are a few things we must discuss first."

Malcolm frowned again. _I knew there had to be a catch._

The old man adjusted his glasses for a moment before speaking again. "Normally in Britain, a potential student receives a letter from Hogwarts just prior to their eleventh birthday, when it becomes clear that they have the potential to become a witch or wizard. As I understand, your name appeared in the Ministry of Magic's census, and you were sent a letter. However, at the time you were in, I believe it was…"

"Burkina Faso."

"Yes, that's right. While you were technically still a British muggle citizen, when the owl did not return it was thought that you had opted to attend one of the local wizarding schools. A query was sent to the Pollaburk Institute, but they were somewhat slow in responding. The message that you were not on their rolls was misdirected within the ministry, and by the time it was all sorted out, we find you here."

"Three years?" Malcolm's eyes widened. "Bugger me," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes," Dumbledore smiled faintly, "the workings of our government are often as obscure as the ones you are familiar with."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "You know what my father did for a living." It was not a question.

"Yes, Mr. Smith. Our queries sparked some interest within the muggle Foreign Ministry. The… security… surrounding you and your father was also a factor in the delay. On the other hand, you have also demonstrated a degree of discretion that may serve you well."

Malcolm didn't say a word.

The old man smiled a little more openly. "it took some doing to correlate between the Ministry and the muggle records to search for your relatives. It seems that your father changed his name at a young age. However, once I read the documents I understood his reticence. You see, even as muggle parents may have a magical child, even in the oldest wizarding families, there will occasionally be born children with little or no magic. The common term for these is a 'squib'. Depending on the family, I'm afraid they may not be looked upon with a kindly eye… and this particular family would, I am afraid, be worse than many."

The boy struggled not to let his face show any change. In some way this explained some of his father's behavior… but he would think about this later. "Which family are we talking about? What name?"

The old man sighed. "LeStrange."

A/N

Okay, taking a stab with a new story, taking place during Harry's 3rd year. Going to try and do this with mostly O/C and secondary characters (a pack of Slytherin's anyone?), some peripheral involvement of the mains. (If you've read the Star Trek novels Dreadnought and Battlestations you'll have an idea of what I'm trying to do.) More plot exposition coming next, as I sort the details on my outline. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 2

Malcolm blinked. "I assume that's supposed to mean something to me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Like many things, Magic has a Dark side as well as a Light side. There have been those who sought to use the Dark Arts to gain power and dominion over others. The last one to attempt this was known as Voldemort. The LeStrange family supported him in his bid for power, and after his fall many were imprisoned." The old man sighed. "I am afraid that even after their capture, your father knew that our world would not react well to that name, and chose not to claim it. I imagine that is why he never told you."

"It's not like we talked a lot."

The old man paused, but Malcolm did not elaborate. "Your father did, however, allow for your possible return to our world if you did prove to have the gift. The Smith family, while not particularly prestigious, is large and widespread, and has numerous branches throughout the world. No one would be surprised to have an unknown member of it turn up at Hogwarts."

"Even though I am what, two years behind?"

"That touches on something else we may wish to discuss, Mr. Smith. You are not overly large for your age, and questions about why you were delayed in arriving at Hogwarts may lead people into asking questions about your origin. If you wish, you may simply join the other first-year students and we can allow everyone to assume you are in your eleventh year."

"I'm going to be pretty much a duffer as it is. Don't see how that could hurt."

The old man smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. "Many students enter Hogwarts for the first time thinking that very thought. I hope that you, that them, will be proven to be incorrect in that assumption."

"We'll see. I'm not fond of going into things blindly."

"Well Mr. Smith, there is still over a month until the term starts. If you wish, I can accompany you to Diagon alley where you may purchase some of your school supplies and books. I can, perhaps, suggest a few volumes that might fill in the unavoidable lapses in your knowledge." Malcolm noticed the old man looking closely at him again.

"I'd like that, if you can spare the time."

"I'd be delighted." And he really did seem to be, much to Malcolm's surprise. _Why is this making him so happy?_

Despite the old man's eccentric clothes, he definitely wielded no small amount of influence. The matron allowed him to sign Malcolm out for a day-trip with nary a glance. _He may be a barmy old codger,_ Malcolm mused, _but he's obviously calling the shots around here._

After a short trip on the Underground, the Headmaster led them to a run-down looking old pub called, of all things, The Leaky Cauldron. "Subtle," Malcolm muttered under his breath, drawing an amused glance from his guide.

"People without magic cannot notice this particular establishment, much to Tom's disappointment when business is slow."

Malcolm's head snapped around. _For an old guy, he's got sharp ears._ He filed that away for future reference.

The old man snapped his fingers as they crossed the threshold and suddenly he was engulfed in a full length hood cloak. Malcolm twitched a little but continued walking forward. No one spared them a glance as the headmaster lead them to the back wall of the pub. He tapped his wand against a specific brick three times and suddenly a hole opened in the wall.

As they stepped through into the warm July sunshine, Malcolm's eyes grew wide. He'd read a magazine article about Medieval Fairs, and he'd visited a couple of street bazaars in Morocco and Dubai. Diagon Alley was like all of those rolled together and multiplied. He swiveled his head around, trying to take in all the sights. He noticed the portal closing behind them. The headmaster looked down at him, eyes twinkling again. "Where should we go first?" he asked nonchalantly. Damned if he was going to go all goggle-eyed like some yank tourist.

"A wand should be your first purchase, as that may take some time. Come, Ollivander's is this way."

The shop Dumbledore led them to was fairly run down. Malcolm could have sworn the sign said "established 382 b.c.", but it was hard to tell with how bad the paint was peeling. On the other hand, if any shop could be said to pre-date Alexander the Great, this dusty shack was a good candidate.

A small bell rang as his guide opened the door, then proceeded to sit in the only chair in the room. Long, narrow boxes lined all the walls. Dumbledore had just pushed back the hood of his cloak when a thin old man bustled out of the back, his large, protuberant eyes flickering from Malcolm's face, to the headmaster, and back again.

"I had not expected to see you again so soon, Headmaster. All is well?"

"As well as can be expected. One of my new students needs to purchase a wand." With that he nodded at Malcolm.

Ollivander stared at Malcolm for a long moment. "This is most unexpected." He looked up sharply at Dumbledore.

"A… cadet branch, if you will. They have no knowledge."

"Does he?"

"Yes, I do," Malcolm grated. He disliked people talking about him like he wasn't there. "And I know to keep my gob shut," he muttered.

"Yes, well, this may prove… interesting," Ollivander spun on his heel and began pulling boxes, seemingly at random, from the shelves behind the counter. After the sixth one, he spun and placed them gingerly on the counter. "Now, which is your wand hand?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I guess I'm right-handed, so…" At that, an animated tape measure began measuring seemingly random points on his body while Ollivander opened the boxes.

"Very well, take this," he hand Malcolm a long wooden stick. "Dragon heart-string and Alder, eleven inches, sufficiently rigid for complex Transfigurations… give it a wave and see how it reacts."

Malcolm felt like an utter fool, but his stomach gave a little flutter when a few faint sparks emerged from the tip. _Did I do that?_

"No, that will not do," Ollivander said instantly, snatching the wand from his hand and replacing it with another. "Unicorn hair and oak. Nine inches, excellent for healing charms."

Another wave, this time generating a few more sparks. No sooner was the wand waved than it was replaced with another. They quickly went through all of the wands on the counter and Mr. Ollivander drew still more from the shelves. After half an hour Malcom's wrist began to ache and he wondered if this was all some big mistake. Maybe he wasn't a wizard after all.

"Do not worry, young man," Ollivander said when he returned with more boxes. "As I have always said, the wand chooses its wielder. We merely have to find the correct one. You will feel the difference, trust me on this."

Finally, when he waved "Thestral hair (whatever that was) and ebony. Seven inches, nice and sturdy, good for quick casts" he felt a shock run up his arm. Sparks erupted from the tip, but were soon drowned out by glittering black motes that swirled through the air around them.

"Yes, well," Ollivander said as the motes spun around them and slowly dissipated. "That one seems to have chosen you, young master Malcolm. Use it well," he said, looking up at Dumbledore.

Malcolm was staring at the black wand tingling in his hand, but he still noticed the odd look that passed between the two men.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 3

The rest of the shopping was done with less drama. The apothecary was more than middling odd, and smelled like the devil's rubbish bin. Malcolm's nose was watering and he was working on a thumping good headache before he'd been able to purchase a used cauldron and potion tools. He was also able to find some used robes at Madame Malkin's that weren't too shabby. At least black didn't show wear that easily. The admission letter mentioned being able to bring a pet, but he didn't have any place to keep it before the term started, so he decided not to get one.

Malcolm was being very cautious with the contents of the pouch Dumbledore had given him. This was supposed to cover his needs for the term, so it made sense to conserve his resources. He did splurge a tiny bit on the dragonhide gloves. He got a good sturdy pair with metal fittings on the back and knuckles. If he needed protective gloves, he didn't want to take any chances.

The last big purchase was his textbooks. Flourish and Blotts fortunately had a large used book section, half of the books by some bloke named Lockhart. Malcolm went through this with care, and found some heavily discounted copies of most of his required books that at least had sound bindings. The headmaster looked questioningly at the damaged covers, but Malcolm caught his eye.

"Can I trade some of these coins for pounds? I mean, muggle money?"

"That can be done at Gringott's. Is there something you wanted to buy?"

"Yeah, if I can get a pick up a couple of rolls of duct tape from a hardware store, I can patch up the covers on these. Not to mention it might be a good idea if people at the Center couldn't read the titles."

The old man blinked. "You could just keep them in your trunk until you leave," he said carefully.

"No way," Malcolm said firmly. "I'm behind enough as it is. I only have a month to revise before start of term."

The old man nodded, and his eyes seemed to be twinkling faster. "I think that can be arranged, Mister Smith." _He is clever as well as resourceful. I will need to keep an eye on this one._

Once he'd double-checked his list to make sure he had everything, the old man lead him to Gringott's, which was evidently a bank of some sort. Unlike any bank Malcolm had ever seen, this one was staffed by gnarled-looking humanoids that were even shorter than he was. It took all his experience living in an embassy compound to keep from staring and embarrassing himself. As they eventually reached the front of the line, the Headmaster hung back, letting Malcolm initiate the conversation. The boy had a feeling he was still being tested in some way.

The 'teller' eyed him for a moment before Malcolm cleared his throat. "Er, hello. I was wondering what the exchange rate on, um, galleons, is it? Yes, galleons to pounds."

The creature consulted a parchment fixed to the counter at his elbow. "That will be seven and three-quarter pounds per galleon."

Malcolm blinked as he reached into his shrinking money-pouch. That was a lot of money per galleon. He swallowed as he got a better idea of what the items he'd purchased today had cost. _I'm definitely glad I went for the used books!_

Fortunately, his guide did not object to a short detour into muggle London. While he was at the hardware store, Dumbledore peered at the rack of different-sized screws with curious delight. Malcolm shook his head and also picked up a sturdy padlock for his footlocker as well. There wasn't a lot of privacy where he was staying right then, and he could tell from what the old man said that the Wizards valued their secrecy. The knowing smile the old man aimed at him at the register confirmed this.

Malcolm had been stewing just that morning, wondering what the hell he was going to do next. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his chances at Hogwarts.

He also picked up a simple sewing kit to patch up his robes. He resolved to look for magic that could do the same thing. His mother had been gone for as long as he could remember, so he'd learned to do simple repairs for himself. It didn't mean he liked to do it.

The sun was low in the sky when the Headmaster returned him to the Placement Center.

Malcolm swallowed. "I appreciate you taking the time to show me around today."

The old man waved his hand. "Tosh, I have little to occupy my days during the summer breaks. The staff and I trade off on these little errands as they present themselves. Now," he said, abruptly changing the topic of conversation, "the paperwork should be arranged for you to join us on the first of September. You will also receive a letter with your ticket. I trust you will retain sufficient funds to arrange transportation to the Kings crossing station?"

Malcolm nodded. He couldn't recall ever having that many pounds in his pocket before. What were these people playing at, if they gave every scholarship student a bag of money and told them to have at it? It's a wonder they didn't have half of them blow the money before they spent a knut on books. _Maybe that was part of the test?_ The nasty, suspicious, and usually correct part of his mind mused. He narrowed his eyes at the old man, "I'm sure I will manage to hold onto the money I was so graciously given."

"I'm sure you will, Mr. Smith. I look forward to seeing you on the first."

Actually, the headmaster saw him again a bit sooner than he expected.

A message from the ministry arrived via owl to his office on the third weekend in August. He frowned as he unrolled the parchment.

The Office of Improper Use of Magic had detected a surge at the location of a prospective Hogwarts student. At this point, the ministry was not sure whether the student in question had received his wand yet, and should therefore be subject to disciplinary action if it had been used, or whether it was simply a case of accidental magic. An inquiry was sent to Hogwarts, as they tended to tread very lightly around muggle government institutions, lest they do even more harm to the Statute of Secrecy.

Albus Dumbledore thought for a moment before writing his reply. The escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban had created no small amount of work the last two weeks. Trying to keep a talented wizard out of a place he knew as well as the back of his hand was a difficult, if not impossible task. Some of the measures the Ministry wanted to take were personally unacceptable, but he had little choice if the fugitive was not captured soon.

On the other hand, the wards were recalibrated, the grounds had been thoroughly inspected, and the staff had all been briefed. There was little to do at this point, and being cooperative with the ministry in one area could help with negotiations in others, or so he hoped.

So instead of owling them, he used his fireplace to make a floo-call directly to the Ministry. Mafalda was surprised when he offered to make a direct inquiry, but when he explained he'd worked with the muggles there earlier in the summer she was more than happy to let him take care of things. There are few things that warm a bureaucrat's heart more than someone else willing to take responsibility and clean up a mess for them.

When he arrived at the Placement Center, the muggle woman at the desk was a little surprised that he knew about the 'incident' already. Dumbledore smiled at her questions and asked if he could speak to Mr. Smith.

"He's been confined to his room while we talk to the other boys involved." She said in a low voice, obviously troubled.

"Thank you, miss…?"

"Rowling, sir. He, well, I know the director said he'd be going off to school in September. This isn't going to affect that, is it?"

"I don't know all the details, but why do you ask?"

"Well, sir, I know the other boys involved and… well, we shouldn't speak ill of any of the children here. Many have had quite a rough go of things. But the boy who got hurt, and the others, they have a bit of a reputation." She took a deep breath as her cheeks colored. "I am fairly certain that whatever happened, Malcolm didn't start it. I don't want to see this affect his chances, sir."

The old man's smile relaxed slightly. He'd hoped as much. "I'll have to make my own inquiry as to the facts of the situation," he said in a serious tone, but then continued in a lower voice, "But if you are correct, I doubt there will be any serious repercussions."

Malcolm looked up as the door opened. He was struck by déjà vu as the headmaster walked through it again. This time his stomach dropped toward his shoes.

"I don't know why they called you," he blurted out before he could think of something more intelligent to say.

"Actually, Mr. Smith, I was contacted by the Office of Improper Use of Magic. Is there something you'd like to tell me?" the Headmaster replied with a stern expression.

"What? But I didn't… I mean I didn't use any magic..." Malcolm's voice trailed off in confusion.

"Maybe, Mr. Smith, you should just tell me what happened earlier today."

"Right. Well, I came back from the showers and heard someone in my room. Not many kids in here over the summer, and I didn't have a roommate yet. So, I decided to walk up quietly and listen. I heard three voices, talking about seeing what I had hidden in my footlocker," his voice tightened. "I kicked the door open and told them to clear out before I called the matron. Instead Justin, the big one, pushed the door shut while the other two went for me. He said I'd been holding out on them, whatever the bloody hell that meant, and that I'd better give them the key or else." Malcolm shrugged. "The 'or else' sounded like a better idea."

"Mr. Smith, even when provoked, the Statute of Secrecy still holds."

Malcolm scowled. "But I didn't use any magic. Not that I know of anyway."

"You knocked out two larger boys and put a third on the infirmary? How as this accomplished?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Jujitsu."

Dumbledore just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's er, a muggle martial art. Sort of like bare-handed fighting." He shrugged again. "They weren't very good, considering all the things they've been up to with the other inmates here. I honestly don't know why the Office of Improprieties thinks I was using magic."

Dumbledore looked at the boy standing before him. Nothing about his stance or demeanor suggested deceit, but his mind was closed in and not as easily read. _I have allowed myself to be deceived before, at great cost to myself and more to those around me._

"Be that as it may, we cannot afford to have any more incidents, Mr. Smith."

Malcolm said something in a low voice, no more than a whisper.

"What was that, Mr. Smith?"

"I said, then you need to take them." He pulled a small key out of this pocket and unlocked the footlocker. He began stacking taped-up books on the foot of his bed. "Take the books and the wand and the cauldron with you. I'll just leave the lock off and let them go through my stuff."

"Mr. Smith."

"If I'm not going to be allowed to defend myself," he hissed. "Then I don't have much choice do I?"

"Mr. Smith."

"I know," he interrupted, "your school, your rules. I'll play along. Hopefully the thieves here will leave me a set of robes for the train ride."

"Malcolm," Dumbledore said in a sharper tone.

The boy stopped, holding out his money pouch to the Headmaster. The old man shook his head and reached out, closing the boy's fingers around the bag. The boy flinched a little at the contact but looked up, questioningly. "I was going to suggest," he said quietly, "that if it was less than safe here, that you could come out to the school a bit early. Our new Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Professor Hagrid, could do with some assistance getting his lesson plans ready. Would you be interested in helping him?"

Malcolm had everything repacked in his footlocker before Dumbledore finished speaking.

A/N – Okay, starting to pick up a little speed here. It's trickier than I thought, trying to fit everything into canon and keep it essentially "off-stage". Please review if you have any comments or questions.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 4

The headmaster withdrew him from the Placement center after being required to sign a surprisingly small number of forms. _This guy has a lot more influence than any school headmaster I've ever heard of. I wonder if that's why he wore that cloak in Diagon Alley. And why all the personal attention to my case?_

Malcolm re-examined all his suspicions as they walked around the corner. He wasn't so much distrustful as careful. He was used to being in an environment where people did not always say what they meant and everyone had their own secrets and goals.

He tightened his grip on the handle of the footlocker balanced awkwardly on his shoulders. It wasn't as heavy as it should have been, not after Dumbledore had discretely tapped it with his wand, but it was still unwieldy. Fortunately, the old man quickly led him into an alleyway. As soon as they were out of sight, he advised Malcolm to brace himself and took a firm grip on the boy's shoulder.

There was an instant of grey dizziness, then they were standing on narrow road that led to a wrought iron archway. Beyond it, the path led through wooded hills to a massive castle set next to a lake. Malcolm's eyes widened and he felt like he'd just had the wind knocked out of him. He looked up at the headmaster.

"I'll never forget, young mister Smith, the first time I myself saw Hogwarts. It's an unforgettable experience, and one to treasure. This will be your home for much of the next seven years, and your gateway to a new world." The old man's eyes were twinkling like mad now.

Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat, but shuddered as a chill knifed through him. Without knowing why, he looked up and noticed two impossibly tall, emaciated figures flanking the gate, each shrouded in a ragged black cloak. Distantly, he thought he could hear the sounds of an explosion and people screaming faintly.

The figures began to glide forward, impossibly smooth, and the cold grew worse. Malcolm started as he felt Dumbledore's hand squeeze his shoulder. Suddenly, the kindly old man was gone, and Malcolm could feel the anger pouring off of him as he raised his free hand. "Come no further," the headmaster said in a flat tone. "You know who I am and if you interfere you will regret it."

The cloaked figures paused, and then withdrew to their positions flanking the gate. Malcolm ground his teeth together to keep them from chattering, but he walked forward when the headmaster released his shoulder. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the faint sounds echoing in his ears.

The chill faded as soon as they stepped through the arch. Malcolm looked up at the old man. "What the bloody hell are those things?" he asked, cringing at the quaver in his voice.

Dumbledore sighed. "Those are Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, the wizard's prison. A very dangerous man escaped from there two weeks ago, and the Ministry dispatched some of them to Hogwarts in case he attempts to come here. I have forbid," at this his voice lowered and his eyes flashed, making Malcolm swallow reflexively, "them from entering the grounds, but the Ministry insists on placing them to ward the outer boundaries. Do not worry, they will not trespass, and Sirius Black will not dare tempt their wrath."

Malcolm nodded shakily. "What, what was that feeling as we walked by them, I could almost hear… well…"

"Dementors feed on positive emotions and memories… when they are around you will experience your worst memories."

Malcolm whispered, "The bomb…" and shuddered.

The old man squeezed his shoulder even tighter. "Dementors are difficult for even a full-grown wizard to face. Your courage and resiliency serve you well. This, however," he said as he fished a large foil-wrapped rectangle out of his pocket, "should help you recover."

Malcolm shook his head and lowered the footlocker to the grass beside the path, then accepted the object. Writing on the top spelled out "Honeyduke's Best ™" in gold letters. He looked up questioningly.

"Oddly enough, chocolate is an effective counter to the Dementor's chill. Eat that, and the effects should fade… and perhaps Madame Pomfrey will not be quite as annoyed at me." He smiled as Malcolm unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite.

It really was extremely high quality chocolate, and as it melted on his tongue, Malcolm felt warmth spread through his body, driving out the deathly chill. He'd never been that obsessed with sweets, but he'd be willing to eat an entire jar of vegemite to get rid of that feeling. After he finished, he sighed and picked up his footlocker again, nodding to the headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled and led him up the path to the great hall.

During the summer, when there were no students, the staff took their meals together at a smaller round table in the middle of the Great Hall. Some, like the antisocial Potions Master, preferred to eat in their quarters, and no persuasion available to the headmaster could persuade him to change. The majority, however, did gather there, and so Dumbledore was able to introduce young mister Smith to Hagrid.

Malcolm looked up from his dinner, which was quite good, and his eyes widened when the massive half-giant walked into the Great Hall. He'd wondered about the oversized chair he saw parked next to his. Turns out it was barely large enough for the man.

"Ah, there you are Hagrid," the headmaster beamed. "I know you are quite busy getting ready to take over for Professor Kettleburn, and I thought you could use some assistance getting ready for the new term. This young man is Malcolm Smith, one of our new students, who came out a bit early to get adjusted to Hogwarts."

"Malcolm is it?" the enormous man rumbled, eyes glinting above a hedgerow of bushy black beard.

Malcolm just nodded, mouth dry,

"'ad any experience wit' interestin' creatures?" he asked cocking an eyebrow.

"Not a ruddy bit," Malcolm replied.

There was a muted explosion nearby that almost made Malcolm dive for cover. It repeated twice more before he realized that Hagrid was chuckling at him. "Well," he rumbled, "we'll fix that soon, won't we?" The giant man made to pat him on the back, and Malcolm was glad the back of his chair absorbed most of the blow.

For as long as Malcolm could remember, he and his father had lived in a series of embassies, consulates, and diplomatic quarters. Each of these, in turn, had been located within a large city. His experiences within the great outdoors had been limited to a couple of day trips and diplomatic junkets.

In short, he was totally unprepared for his temporary summer job.

He woke up the next morning in the guest chambers. The beds were old-fashioned, but extremely comfortable. The stone floors were a bit chilly, but he was used to walking on cold tiles that were just as hard. Malcolm decided he could get used to living in a castle.

He began to reconsider the first time he noticed the stairway was moving under his feet. His stomach clenched and he grabbed the banister in a death-grip. _What the bloody hell is it doing that for? _When it finally stopped, Malcolm raced down to what he hoped was a solid floor. The moving paintings were also a little unnerving. He'd thought at first that they were just like those prism-cut pictures that appeared to change as you tilted them. But when he smiled at a portrait of a half-dozen monks sitting at a low table, getting soused on red wine, they all smiled and waved to him. Malcolm swallowed and realized he could hear their voices as well.

The principle behind the magic of Hogwarts seemed to be "If it can make your day a little weirder, expect it to happen."

Finally, he made his way down to the Great Hall. One of the professors looked up at him and smiled. She was a round-faced but kindly looking woman Malcolm thought was introduced as Professor Sprout last night. He imagined he looked a little wild-eyed, and that she'd seen that 'deer in the headlights' look before. He nodded back to her as he felt his face burn. He scooped some eggs onto his plate along with sausages and several rashers of bacon. He rounded this out with some fried potatoes and a couple of pieces of toast.

It was hard not to groan with pleasure as he ate. The food was bloody marvelous here, something he'd not expected at a school. Some of the professors were just eating a pastry, or a bit of toast, but Malcolm found himself craving protein lately. He supposed he was getting ready for a growth spurt, and hoped it didn't make him stand out too much from the other first-years. In less time than he would have believed possible, he cleared his plate. As he'd been instructed, he tapped the plate with his fork and it was suddenly clean. _This would put dishwashers out of work if that trick got out_, he laughed to himself.

"'ere now Malcolm, ready ter get to it?" a basso rumble made him jump a bit in his chair. He looked up and saw Hagrid, er, _Professor_ Hagrid smiling down at him. _How can someone that big move so quietly?_ Malcolm asked himself as he nodded.

"Alrigh, alrigh. Firs' let me show yer around a bit." With that, Hagrid led him out of the hall.

Their first stop was a large hut at the edge of the forest. Hagrid lived there, as part of his gameskeeper duties. Evidently, he'd just been promoted to Professor as well, which caused him to choke up with emotion every time it came up in conversation. "Great man, Professor Dumbledore is, to give me a chance," he always muttered.

"Yer might want tae leave yer robe here, Malcolm," he rumbled. "Easy tae get it torn up or tangled when were in th' forest."

Malcolm nodded. He was wearing a tee-shirt and jeans under the robe, and was getting a little warm anyway.

Hagrid's eyes twinkled when he saw Malcolm's tee-shirt. "I see yer muggle-born," he said.

"Not quite," Malcolm shrugged, mindful of his cover story. "But I've spent a lot of time in the muggle world." _Like all of my bloody life, _he though with a rueful grimace.

"Oh, aye, there's nothing wrong with being muggle-born," Hagrid said quickly. "Not that ye'll ever hear the Purebloods admit it. Dumbledore though, he thinks everyone deserves a good magical education. Great man he is, even gave me a chance, being what I am."

Malcolm frowned up at Hagrid. "What are you playing at?" he asked quietly.

Hagrid blinked. "Well," he said with a self-deprecating grin, "I'm not exactly looking like yer average professor, am I?"

Malcolm snorted. "I think if you're going to be messing about with Magical Creatures, it's better to have someone noticeably bigger than the creatures, eh?"

Hagrid stared at him for a moment, and then started chuckling again. He clapped a platter-sized hand to Malcolm's shoulder, which sent him staggering into a pile of split firewood. "Right. Yer a good lad, Malcolm. Aye 'ope ye get sorted into a good house."

As Hagrid began stuffing tools, rolls of cloth, and an odd assortment of bottles into a large carpet bag, Malcolm asked him what he meant by sorting.

Hagrid jumped a little and looked guilty. "Well, there's four different houses for the students at Hogwarts. Ye'll get sorted intae one of the four when ye start, but I can't say much more than that. You'll get told at the start of the term."

Malcolm just nodded. Hagrid seemed like a nice enough bloke, but he appeared to have a bit of a loose mouth as well. It was probably just as well that he hadn't mentioned any of the arrangements Dumbledore had made.

Malcolm learned a lot that day as he followed Professor Hagrid on his rounds. The "Forbidden Forest" was something like the magical equivalent of a nature preserve. According to Hagrid, subtle wards had been set up ages ago, that subdivided the Forest into little sub-areas. The wards were not actual barriers, but they encourage the creatures within not to cross the boundaries. This let Hagrid and his predecessors keep antagonistic creatures separated. For example, Dire Wolves and Unicorns did not get along well at all, and allowing either group easy access to the other was begging for trouble. The wards also helped ensure that dangerous creatures didn't leave the Forest, either.

"O' course, the wards don't so well, th' smarter ye are," Hargid concluded.

"Smarter?"

"Well, fer example, there's a herd of centaurs in there. They're just as smart as wizards… smarter, by the way they tell it. They know about th' wards, they just don't pay them any mind. Truth be told, I think they appreciate how it keeps some of the things they don't like tied down. The wards also don't keep students out of the Forest, and no matter what we tell them, a couple always wander in over th' course of a year."

"Er, do they make it back out again?" Malcolm asked.

"Well, usually," Hagrid replied evasively.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm muttered under his breath. _What have I gotten myself into?_ he asked himself.

"'ere now, no need tae worry," Hagrid said bracingly. "All of the disappearances… er, well, most of them were at night."

Malcolm just looked at the gigantic man.

"Don' worry, I'm with ya. I think summaz them that went missing just ran off… getting away from their parents or going to join You-Know-Who…" Hagrid shut his mouth quickly, his teeth clacking together. "Doesn't matter," he said after a moment, "I'm here wit' ye, and I'll show ye how tae get around and not get hurt or nothing."

Malcolm was not entirely reassured, but followed Hagrid into the woods.

A/N Alrigh', alrigh' - trying to write Hagrid is fun but challenging. As the story rolls along and picks up momentum, I'm hoping to include longer chapters.

Please send me a review and let me know what you think. If Hagrid's dialogue is too hard to read, I can tone it down (reading it phonetically should help).


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 5

Over the course of the next two weeks, Malcolm found himself revising his opinion of Hagrid. Professor Hagrid. The man looked like he needed his own postal district, and he talked like a bit player from some wonky Victorian melodrama, but he actually knew his creatures.

Of course, Malcolm reflected, it was probably a little easier to handle what most people considered monsters if you were as big as a house.

Hagrid's hut looked messy and unkempt, but he actually knew where everything was. Malcolm was also surprised at how efficiently the man used the byproducts of his charges to take care of his responsibilities. He spent most of an afternoon in the unicorn glade, after Hagrid had asked him some embarrassing personal to questions to ensure they would tolerate Malcolm's presence, using a magnifying glass and tweezers to gather stray unicorn hairs from the vegetation. Not only did the hairs make bandage bindings that prevented infection, but the best samples were purchased by Ollivander for wand cores. Hagrid usually spent this money at the apothecary to purchase medicines and potion ingredients to care for his charges. He even had a small cauldron concealed in a back nook of his kitchen.

"Don't like ter bother Professor Snape fer simple things I can brew fer myself," he explained ducking his head. Hagrid seemed a little embarrassed by that, like he was doing something he shouldn't have been, but Malcolm didn't press. He was treated fairly and Hagrid never hesitated to explain what they needed to do and why. The man seemed to enjoy teaching so much that he couldn't help it, like it was a sacred vocation. Malcolm recalled the sour-faced tutor employed at the embassy and shuddered. Compared to her, chipping a tooth on a rock cake and getting slobbered on by an enormous boar hound was nothing.

As awkward and unfamiliar as he found the work, Malcolm was surprised to find that he enjoyed it. He couldn't remember ever getting to spend a lot of time in the country, and the Forbidden Forest was always showing him new sights, sounds, and smells every day. His boss was also a natural teacher, who enjoyed talking about his charges so much that Malcolm was disappointed to learn that Care of Magical Creatures was not offered to first year students.

"Not that you'll have a lot of trouble when ye do take it, Malcolm, yer a natural, you are," Hagrid reassured him. Malcolm hadn't been trying to wind him up, but letting Hagrid know he was looking forward to his class had pleased the man to no end. It also led to him working with some of the more… exotic of the man's charges. Surprisingly enough, there were some things Malcolm was a great help with. Smaller fingers meant for smaller knots and neater bandages when one of the thestrals scraped its hind leg. Hagrid looked a little surprised when he asked if Malcolm could see the bizarre horse-like creature okay. When Malcolm nodded, Hagrid made a sad face that was equally confusing.

"So ye've had some healer training then?" Hagrid asked as he finished.

"I took a first aid course. Nigel said it could prove handy… er," Malcolm closed his mouth and looked away.

"Ah. Well," Hagrid looked uncomfortable. "Th' really interesting thing about thestrals is that most people can't see em' at all."

"They're invisible?" Malcolm asked in confusion.

"Sort of. Well, ye can only see a thestral if you've seen someone, er, pass away, like."

Malcolm nodded. "I suppose I'm triply qualified then," he said bitterly.

Hagrid's eyes widened, and Malcolm was embarrassed to see tears start to well up in the beetle-black orbs.

Malcolm shrugged. "Before I got my letter, my father and I were at the British Embassy in Yemen. There was a car bomb," he stopped when Hagrid frowned in confusion. "A muggle explosive device. A very powerful one. When it went off it killed my father and about half the protective detail. I was lucky to escape with a couple of scrapes and bruises. Nigel, he…" Malcolm swallowed. "Anyway, they pretty much died right in front of me, so I suppose that qualifies me."

Hagrid didn't say anything, but managed to pat Malcolm's shoulder awkwardly, but without his usual jarring force.

It was halfway through his second week at Hogwarts and Malcolm was just settling down to sleep when there was a loud knock at his door.

"Er, hello?" was his articulate reply. He rubbed at his eyes, grainy from reading ahead for his classes.

"Malcolm, lad, I could use yer help," Hagrid's deep bass voice was distinctive, even through the door, but he sounded strange, almost… anxious?

Malcolm pulled his boots back on and pulled the door open.

The gigantic professor filled the corridor, but seemed somehow diminished. He had an anxious expression on his face was twisting his hands together as rain dripped off his hair and his coat.

"What's wrong?" Malcolm asked.

"It's the Ember, she's gone inter labor, but it's way too soon. Madame Pomfrey is at Diagon Alley picking up medical supplies and I need some help. Ye've got good hands, Malcolm, and I'm afraid were going tae lose th' whole litter."

Ember was a Firehound, or Hellhound as they were also known, a rare species of fire-breathing canine that had been been sent to Hogwarts from some place in Europe called Durmstrang. Hagrid had been particularly proud of her, and the rare species exchange program he and Dumbledore had set up with some other schools that had magical creature preserves. The professor seemed to have a positive mania for anything that breathed fire. They'd checked on her only a day earlier, and while she was obviously carrying a litter, she hadn't been in any visible distress.

Malcolm pulled a ratty old jumper out of his wardrobe and yanked it over his head. It was dark out and rainy, and the nights were already starting to chill. "Where is she?" he asked.

Hagrid nodded and led him out into the night.

When the dawn slowly warmed the sky, Malcolm flexed his frozen fingers and sighed. Hagrid shook his head and snapped out of his reverie.

"Ye did all ye could, lad. Weren't nothing tae be done fer it." Despite his words, Hargid's face was still etched with grief.

Malcolm wasn't sure what had triggered the early labor. Ember had a very difficult time, and in the end, the Firehound seemed to just run out of energy. He wondered if the early labor had killed her, or if there was something else wrong and she'd merely been trying to give her puppies at least a slim chance at life. In the end, her breathing had gone harsh and then her eyes glazed over and the warmth that she'd been radiating all night had suddenly cut off.

Every puppy that had emerged had done so cold and limp. Despite everything he and Hagrid tried, none of them responded or showed any sign of life. Malcolm had spent the night, with Hagrid's instructions, trying to ease the tiny offspring out, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Each one was unmoving. Dead as their mother. He actually had his hand _inside_, hoping the last one would revive, when Ember gave up the fight.

He shuddered and felt a prickling at his eyes as tears of frustration and rage threatened to spill. He'd spent _all bloody night_ and it hadn't made any difference.

We went very still as he felt something move against his fingertips.

"Hagrid!"

"I'm sorry I drug ye out here lad, I shouldna' a… didn't make no difference. I…"

"Hagrid, I feel something moving. Can you, well, push a bit?"

Hagrid's eyes went wide and he complied. After a few hectic moments Malcolm had the last puppy in his hands. It lay as still and silent as its mother and he wondered if he'd imagined the movement he'd felt earlier. He opened his mouth to speak and a scrap of pink tongue appeared at the end of the tiny muzzle.

"Hagrid!" he said as he laid a trembling forefinger against the puppy's flank. A thready pulse raced under the wet skin and he felt warmth begin to radiate from the tiny body.

An enormous wet sniff was his only reply and he saw Hagrid barely able to hold back tears. "Poor little thing. Lost 'is mother, just like 'arry," he said, his voice trailing off. He shook himself. "We'll need tae feed it up or it won't have a chance. Hold 'im close, Malcolm and I'll get some warm milk from th' house elves. Going tae have ter mix it with lamp oil, about four parts ter one, tae get 'im tae take it. I'll be right back, jes' keep 'im warm, lad." Hagrid left the enclosure at a dead run, his footfalls shaking drops from the trees.

Malcolm returned his attention to the pup as the crashing noises receded. He could feel the small body start to shake, and it cringed as a fat drop of water struck its shoulder. The sleek coat was still damp, and that couldn't be helping, so he cradled the small body against his stomach as he pulled the jumper over his head. He awkwardly got it wrapped around the newborn and used a rough sleeve to wipe it clean. The fur fluffed up a bit, and proved to be as fine as silk. Malcolm bundled it up in the jumper and leaned back against a tree, barely noticing the wet bark soaking through his tee-shirt. The mass in his arms was starting to radiate gentle warmth, making him stare down at it. He left the newborn's face uncovered to make sure it didn't smother, and he swore he saw the eyelid twitch a moment, revealing a brilliant green glow, before the head eased back. Malcolm panicked for a moment, but the slow steady breaths continued.

Hagrid returned to find Malcolm almost asleep against the tree. At first, they couldn't get the puppy to try the greasy mixture of milk and oil he brought in the mug. Finally, Malcolm dipped his finger in the mess and began rubbing the tip over the tiny muzzle. After a moment, he felt the rough tongue move against his finger and the puppy seemed to rouse. He repeated this until the hellhound was actively sucking Hagrid's formula off the end of Malcolm's finger. The sun was well up before their patient seemed to tire and drifted off to sleep with an almost inaudible burp.

Hargid let out a pleased rumble and Malcolm looked up at his boss, wincing as his neck muscles let him know just how annoyed they were.

"Ye look pretty well knackered, Malcolm. Get back on up tae th' castle an' get some sleep. Madame Pomfrey'll hex me if she sees ye in this state."

Malcolm blinked and handed Hagrid the bundle. He awkwardly climbed to his feet, feeling pins and needles throughout his legs. He started stumbling toward the castle, wondering if he'd missed lunch, when Hagrid's voice stopped him.

"Malcolm," he rumbled, looking down at the black head sticking out of the rolled up jumper, "lil' feller wouldn't ha' made it if it hadn't been fer ye. Thank ye."

Malcolm nodded and smiled. He turned and walked through the warm sunshine to the castle.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 6

After three huge roast beef sandwiches, a hot bath, and a long nap, Malcolm was feeling remarkably better. At dinner, Hagrid told him the puppy was doing fine, and told everyone at the table what Malcolm had done last night. Malcolm felt his face burn as the faculty looked in turns amused, sad, and impressed. Madame Pomfrey, true to Hagrid's expectations, was furious that Malcolm had stayed out all night in the rain. She was only a little mollified when he said he'd already eaten and rested. It wasn't until she'd used her wand to check him for a temperature that her scowl softened.

"Good job with that newborn Mr. Smith," she said under her breath.

Malcolm just nodded. He wasn't sure why Hagrid and the rest were making such a big deal out of it.

Professor Hagrid braved the school nurse's wrath again by asking if Malcolm could take a look at the hellhound pup after dinner. When she started to object he looked down. "Lil' feller won't eat much. Malcolm's got a right touch with 'im, and he needs ter build up 'is strength. Don' worry, I'm keepin' 'im inside me hut."

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "Very well, Hagrid."

Professor Hagrid grinned, enormous white teeth contrasting with his coarse black beard. When they got up from the table Hagrid led Malcolm out to his cabin at the edge of the forest. As they walked through the deepening gloom, Malcolm noticed his boss was looking around carefully as they left the brightly lit castle.

"What's wrong, Professor Hagrid?" he asked quietly. For some reason he was loath to raise his voice.

"Nothin' really," Hagrid said hesitantly, "Jes want ter make sure th' Dementors aren't hangin' about."

Malcolm looked around in alarm. "I though Professor Dumbledore wasn't allowing them on the grounds?"

"No, no, he's not. We just, want to be careful, in case they stray. Not that they have, mind you. Just… pays to be careful." Hagrid wouldn't look Malcolm in the eye. Malcolm shook his head; the man was an awful liar.

"Have they been bothering the animals?" he asked quietly. He stopped walking and stared at Hagrid. "Is that why Ember miscarried?"

Hagrid waved a huge hand in an uncertain gesture. "Don't really know… but some of th' creatures seem tae be upset, like. Dementors are horribly unnatural, creatures of Dark Magic, you know. Stands tae reason th' foul things would… do… bad things just by being around, like." He sighed. "But until Black's found…"

"Who?" Malcolm asked.

"None of yer concern," Hagrid said suddenly. Malcolm let it drop, but decided to file that name away for future reference.

Inside Hagrid's hut, an old milk crate was sitting on the table. As Hagrid poked up the fire and started making tea, Malcolm looked over the lip of the crate. Inside he could see his old jumper with a small black ball of fur sticking out. He shook his head and eased his hands under the material. The eye cracked open again, a flicker of glowing green. Malcolm thought he heard a faint whimpering sound. He stroked a finger tip across the silky brow and the eye screwed shut.

"Yer got a deft hand wit' animals," Hagrid said as he put the re-warmed milk-and-oil mixture on the table. Malcolm frowned and dipped his forefinger into the greasy glop and brought it up to the delicate black muzzle. The head rose up and it immediately began licking at his finger.

"Yep, he's really taken tae ye," Hagrid said, a little sadly. "Looks like it thinks yer its mum. Reminds me o' poor little Norbert, it does."

Malcolm sighed. He had no idea what Norbert was, and truthfully he was a little scared to guess. "He won't take formula from you?"

"No, Firehounds are quite picky about feeding. That's why it's so hard ter get a breeding pair in captivity. The wild adults are too smart and too vicious tae handle, and th' pups as won't take food from anything but their parents. I think th' lil' feller fancies you as 'is mum."

"Oh hell," Malcolm said, dismayed. "I didn't think it would bond to me like that."

"Well, what yer going tae expect 'im tae do? Yer th' firs' thing in th' world 'e sensed. Ye got him to air, ye cleaned him up and made him warm… It's nae surprise," Hagrid sniffed. Malcolm noticed his speech got thicker and thicker as he grew more emotional. It was a little embarrassing, but the gigantic man didn't seem to care. "Nae, ye did th' right thing, Malcolm. If ye hadn't, th' poor lil' thing wouldn't 'ave stood a chance."

"Well, this is going to be a little awkward."

"Don't ye be worrying about that," Hagrid said firmly, he looked up and took a deep breath. "That's th' only Firehound in a public preserve in Britain. O' course, there's stories about some being kept by old families tae guard their houses, but them are likely Dark as not. Don't want to think about how they treat their animals." Those beetle-black eyes flashed angrily and Malcolm froze for a moment, startled by the sudden mood change. He realized he didn't ever want to see Hagrid catch someone abusing one of his charges. Ever.

"Anyway," Hagrid continued, "jes' take care o' that pup. That's more important than anything else ye could be doing."

"Okay," Malcolm agreed, "but what about after the term starts?"

"Well, if he isn't eatin' on his own by then, we can make some arrangements. Professor Dumbledore, he'll see tae it. Great man, 'e is."

"Uhm, Hagrid, I don't think we want people to know about me coming out here early. It might get people asking questions, you know…" Malcolm swallowed. Dumbledore had been quite emphatic that he not say or do anything to draw attention to himself once the term started. Too many people asking questions about him would endanger the cover identity his father had set up. While he hadn't developed much of a relationship with his father, Malcolm had started to understand why the man was so secretive and... cold.

Professor Hagrid nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if ye get yerself intae a bit o' trouble, say enough for a detention, I could ask that ye be sent tae me tae serve it. Worked well enough for Harry and Ron that one time…" Hagrid clamped him mouth shut and actually looked a little embarrassed.

"That's pretty sneaky, Professor," Malcolm said with a grin. "So how much hell do I have to raise to get a detention around here?" he asked with a grin as he wetted his finger again with the warm glop and brought it back to the puppy's mouth.

Scene Break

As September First approached, Malcolm was almost sorry to that his informal apprenticeship was ending, even as he anticipated the start of his magical education. He hadn't gotten to exercise much at the Placement Center, but all the running around he'd done in the Forest was doing good things for his endurance, not to mention his muscle tone. The excellent food served in the Main Hall, combined with the exercise, was giving him an incredible appetite, and he noticed a few professors smiling faintly at him during meals. Professor Hagrid, of course, encouraged him to eat his fill, as he considered Malcolm to be 'a bit weedy still'.

On the last day of August, Professor Dumbledore spoke to Malcolm after breakfast. The old man seemed frustrated about something, but the twinkle was still there in his eyes as he asked Malcolm to follow him to his office.

After ascending several flights of stairs, Malcolm grinned as the gargoyle pivoted to let them pass. The headmaster raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"I read that the head of the KGB had the entrance to his office hidden behind a bookshelf or something," he said.

"Did he now? I've always been amazed at what non-magical folk come up with," he smiled, "I have a friend at the Ministry who spends all his free time examining their artifacts, trying to figure out how it all works." As they entered his office he sat behind his desk with a sigh. "Lemon drop?" he asked.

Malcolm nodded, taking one to be polite. The headmaster smiled at the face he made immediately after popping it into his mouth. It was incredibly sour, and it was all he could do not to spit it out into his hand. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"The simplest way to have you arrive at school would be to move your trunk to the cellars. The house elves can place it in the correct dormitory after you have been sorted. I have constructed a port-key that will take you to Platform nine and three-quarters, where you will board the Hogwarts Express with the other students. The professors and staff know that your presence here during the summer is not to be discussed. I cannot impress upon you how important it is, for your own safety, to not reveal the things we have discussed about your past."

Malcolm nodded. "Don't worry; I'm not going to break operational security."

The headmaster looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Do you have any questions regarding these arrangements?"

"Yes, I have two. First, the Firehound puppy. It still won't accept formula from anyone but me. We think it might have bonded to me as its substitute mother or something," he waved his hands in frustration. "I'm going to have to keep feeding it or it isn't going to make it."

Dumbledore frowned. "I am glad you were able to salvage something out of such a tragic loss. The exchange with Durmstrang may have been a unique opportunity, but this is going to complicate things. If it were a little larger, we could just make an exception for it as an unusual magical pet."

"Well, Professor Hagrid mentioned I could continue doing feedings under the cover of a detention."

Dumbledore smiled, a little broader now. "I imagine that he would remember that. That is possible if it is acceptable to you. Your devotion to a helpless creature speaks volumes about your character, Malcolm. I am glad to see my decision being vindicated before the term has even begun."

Malcolm ducked his head as he felt his face flushing.

"Try not to do anything too outrageous to earn your detention, Mr. Smith," the headmaster said with a twinkle in his eye. "Now, what was your second question?"

"Ah," Malcolm said, straightening up. "What is a port-key?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 7

Malcolm stumbled and almost fell to his knees as his stomach throbbed. _So that was a Port-key. I'd just as soon be loaded into a catapult and **thrown** here from Hogwarts. _He felt like someone had hooked a grappling hook into his guts and yanked him from Scotland to London.

He stepped out of the alcove behind the telephone booth and into the crowded train station. It felt almost surreal to be back in urban London after weeks at Hogwarts. _I suppose it will be worse after term,_ he mused. He adjusted the worn backpack on his shoulder. It held a set of school robes and his lunch. He'd been told it was customary to change into his school robes while the train traveled to Hogsmead, probably to avoid freaking out the muggles.

He slowly made his way to platform nine, his black jeans and plain grey tee-shirt blending in with the crowd. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get the kinks out. Working for Professor Hagrid had definitely been good exercise, and it felt good to stretch. Maybe he would find a place to jog after term started. Nigel would be disgusted with him if he let himself go soft…

Malcolm swallowed as he cut that thought off. He didn't have time to deal with the past, or guilt, right now. _Remember what he taught you, _he snarled to himself, _stay focused on the mission. Go to pieces on your own time, Smith._ He straightened and took a deep breath. No way would he let him down now.

As he got closer to the gate, he saw more and more people that looked just a little bit… off. Some of them were wearing horrifically mis-matched color combinations. Others were wearing winter clothing and broiling in the mild September air. Surveying the crowd, Malcolm noticed that the older people tended to commit the worst sins against fashion. _Yeah, I think I found the wizards._

As he eased toward the steel barrier between platforms nine and ten, where a lot of people seemed to want to stand, he noticed two long dark green cars pull up in front of the train station. Two serious-looking men got out of the cars before a crowd of red-haired people who were obviously related emerged. Their escorts scanned the crowd with a cool professionalism that Malcolm recognized immediately, even as it made his stomach lurch.

Malcolm turned and wove through the crowd. No one seemed to mind as they were all looking curiously at the cars. He leaned against the solid-seeming metal and next thing he knew he was stumbling side-ways onto a platform full of people and trunks. A bright red locomotive dominated the scene, puffs of white vapor drifting from the stack. There was a huge crowd of people milling about, most of them appearing to be parents seeing off their children.

He started walking toward the train, intent on getting a seat before it got crowded, since no one was bidding him goodbye. He jumped a little when a quartet of black-robed figures suddenly appeared in the crowd. _I guess that's one way to avoid dealing with the muggles,_ Malcolm thought, taking in their richly-embroidered robes and jewelry. Two tall and powerful looking men, along with a very severe-looking woman, were accompanying a small girl with long, pale blond hair.

The taller of the two men looked about with a sneer. "…Can't even tell half of these people aren't filthy mudbloods, can you Ivar?"

The other robed man shook his head in disgust while their companion looked down at the little girl. "We have talked about your tasks this year, Anna. The curriculum here should not tax your abilities. I had better not receive any owls to the contrary. You will be contacted about what is to happen over the holidays."

Malcolm watched the girl pale out of the corner of his eye. He just wanted to get past these people without getting involved in a scene. He had no doubt they would disapprove of his jeans and shirt.

The train itself was swarming with kids and a few adults. He looked around, trying to find an empty compartment, and finally ducked into one near the front of the train. He pushed the door shut and locked it, leaning back against it. He wasn't sure why the crowd outside had made him so jittery. _Maybe because they were all magical?_ _The crowd outside in the train station had made me a little tense, but nothing like on the platform. _He took a deep breath and blew it out. Those rich-looking wizards who'd teleported, or apparated onto the platform were definitely off-putting.

He straightened up and slung the bag off his shoulder. He pulled out his black robes and shook them out. He'd folded them with some care, so they weren't totally wrinkled. He pulled them over his head, wanting to feel more like he belonged where he was going. With a little wriggling and pulling, he got the black fabric settled over his shoulders, and the hems down to around his ankles. Madame Malkin had wanted to hem them a little lower, but Malcolm didn't relish tripping over them and cracking his skull.

Admittedly, with his robes on, and his wand in his hand, he felt a little more like a wizard and a little less like a fraud. He smiled as he realized that he was technically free to do magic now. He waved his wand and watched sparks and tiny black motes dance through the compartment. The first real grin he'd cracked since leaving Hogwarts spread across his face.

He was settling down on the bench seat and wishing he'd packed one of his text books when the door latch rattled. Malcolm looked up and waited. Finally, there was a knock on the door. He sighed and got up to open it.

Standing in the aisle was the black-robed girl from the platform. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, and her ice-blue eyes were snapping angrily as she looked past him. "Planning to keep the whole compartment for yourself, were you?" she demanded.

Malcolm looked down at her, glad he was at least taller than she was. "I didn't feel like company," he said evenly.

"Well, you don't have that option," she snapped. "Most of the compartments are full, and I'm not going to sit cheek and jowl with a mob of hooligans so you can enjoy your solitude."

_What a shrew!_ Malcolm thought to himself. "Fine, sit down. I wasn't aware we were so short of room, and how could I turn down such a _gracious_ request." He pivoted, sweeping his arm in a mocking bid to enter.

She glared at him as she brushed past, but after twits like Justin at the Placement Center, he found her attitude to be only mildly snarky. She sat down with a flounce on the opposite side of the compartment from his bag. Malcolm left the door unlatched, feeling a little guilty if things were as crowded as she claimed, and clumped back to his seat.

"What _are_ those things on your feet," she asked after a moment.

Malcolm crossed his legs and looked down at his boot, smiling. "These? Army issue combat boots. They're water-proof, insulated, and bloody near indestructible."

"I'd never wear muggle shoes," the girl gasped, looking actually horrified.

Malcolm shrugged. "Good thing it's my feet then. These things are tougher than dragon hide." He nodded toward her feet. "It's your skin if you spill something corrosive on those dainty slippers in potions."

She blinked. Malcolm swallowed his grin. It was kind of fun knocking her off balance like that. Obviously, the spoiled little rich girl didn't get out much.

The girl took a deep breath. "I fear we haven't been properly introduced. I am Annalise Dolohov," she said in a formal tone. She looked at him expectantly.

_Is her name supposed to mean something to me? _Malcolm smiled at her. "Pleased to meet you," he lied. "I'm Malcolm Smith."

She nodded, a little uncertainly. "Is that the pureblood Smiths from Lincolnshire?"

Malcolm shrugged, but his mind was racing. "I think so, originally. There's so many of us we tend to lose track of all the branches. It's all we can do to make sure we don't end up dating a close cousin."

Annalise's eyes were actually bulging a bit. "You don't… keep track of the family line?" she gasped, shocked.

"Nah. I suppose we're purebloods by that definition, but most of us have better things to do than obsess over genealogy."

What her reply to that would have been, Malcolm would never know, because they were interrupted by the compartment door opening again.

"Is there room in here?" a short, stocky boy with rumpled muddy blond hair asked. He was already in his robes, but they hung somewhat askew.

"Sure," Malcolm said graciously. Fair or not, Annalise's comments about hogging the compartment made him feel a little guilty.

The boy's hazel eyes flickered from Malcolm to Annalise, who was pointedly looking out the window at the thinning crowds at the train station. He walked over to Malcolm and stuck out his hand. "Tobias Rookwood, but call me Tobey or there's going to be a fight!" he growled the last part belligerently.

Malcolm snorted. "Then why don't you just introduce yourself as Tobey? My name is Smith, Malcolm Smith."

Tobey gripped his hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary. Malcolm smiled and squeezed back. "You have a point there. Maybe I just want to see who has the stones to call me Tobias."

"That's one way to make sure you get some exercise," Malcolm agreed. He dug the tip of his thumb into a pressure point on the boy's wrist and pushed hard. Tobey suddenly released his hand and for some reason they both laughed.

Annalise turned back from the window and looked at them both. "What is so amazingly funny?" she asked in a scathing tone. Malcolm and Tobey looked from her to each other and suddenly both had to stifle more laughter.

When he got himself under control again, Tobey asked "Do you two know how to play Exploding Snap?"

Annalise just turned and looked out the window again and Malcolm shook his head, smiling.

"Okay Mal," Tobey said evenly, rolling his eyes at Annalise, "I'll show you how it's done."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 8

Malcolm had never played a card game with built in sound effects before. Exploding Snap was aptly named, because the first time he had a combination detonate, he nearly leaped out of his seat. Since last spring, he'd been a little jumpy where explosions were concerned.

Once he got past that, though, the game wasn't that different from War, which he actually knew how to play. Most of the men in the protective detail were demons for card games, which was understandable for professional soldiers on assignment in countries where more… traditional… diversions were outlawed. Malcolm grinned a little to himself as he thought back to some of the stories they told between hands. If he kept quiet, people tended to forget he was there, and stopped watching what they said. He enjoyed those afternoons and evenings in their informal 'barracks' more than anything else. He swallowed as he remembered why he wasn't still there.

He was rescued from unpleasant memories by the train whistle blaring as they lurched into motion. The door popped open again and a boy with blue eyes, long shaggy brown hair and a sharp nose stuck his head in. "Got some room in 'ere?"

Malcolm looked up from his cards and nodded.

"C'mon, Trish, they got room," the boy said to someone in the passageway. He entered the compartment, hauling on a tall auburn-haired girl's hand. Both were already in their robes.

"Perren Hawkshorne, for the last time, stop calling me Trish!" the girl glowered down at the boy who was half a head shorter than her.

"Okay, Trish," the boy agreed cheekily.

She sighed, rolling her eyes and Malcolm chuckled.

The girl smiled down at him and Tobey, sprawled on the floor playing cards. "I'm **Pa**tricia Fortescue," she said, extending her hand.

Malcolm shook it once. "I'm Malcolm, this is Tobey, and that," he hooked his thumb over at the blond girl watching them, "is Anna."

"My **name**," the girl snapped, "is Annalise Katarina Dolohov."

Patricia turned and inclined her head in a regal manner that mollified the blond girl somewhat, "I am pleased to make the acquaintance of a Dolohov, may your line thrive and prosper."

Annalise blinked. "May the Fortescue line thrive and prosper as well." She smiled faintly.

"So…" Perren said, drawing out the word. "How long have you and Malcolm been dating?"

Annalise's face went scarlet and she thrust her hand into her robes, groping for her wand. She was sputtering incoherently, but what fragments that were intelligible promised dire consequences. Perren took a step back toward the compartment door, and jumped at an explosion of sound coming from the floor.

Malcolm was howling with laughter, arms wrapped around his aching middle. He was lying on his side on the compartment floor, cards scattered around him, face rapidly turning red from oxygen deprivation. Perren stared at him for a moment, and then yelped as a ray of purple light flew past the end of his nose. He dove for cover, stumbling over Tobey. They both hit the floor in a tangle of limbs,

"Annalise, please, there's no need to…" Patricia, hands raised in a placating gesture, stepped in front of the enraged blond girl. Looking up from the floor, Malcolm was sure the redhead was going to get hexed right in the face, but Annalise managed to rein in her temper at the last moment. She jammed her wand back into her robes. Her face still blotchy, she stalked toward the door.

Malcolm felt a stab of guilt. He lurched to his feet and managed to get between her and the door. She fixed him with a glare that was probably capable of melting lead. "Er, look, Annalise, I'm sorry. Perren didn't mean anything by what he said. I'm sure he was just trying to be funny, not mean. I didn't mean to laugh so hard, but it's been a long week for me, and I needed a good laugh. I'd even settle for his lame sense of humor. No one here was trying to be offensive, right guys?"

There were various sounds of assent coming from the compartment, though Perren's seemed to be somewhat under duress, as Patricia was standing right behind him.

Annalise frowned at him in confusion. Malcolm shrugged. "Everyone has unpleasant personal habits. Some people snore, some people tell really awful jokes. I'm sure Perren can't help it, any more than if he had chronic flatulence," at this Tobey snorted and turned red. Perren just glared at him but Patricia had hold of his ear now. "It's just that poor boy's personal cross to bear," Malcolm concluded with a dramatic sigh. The blonde looked at him for a long moment, and then sighed herself. Shaking her head, she went back to her seat, staring at the countryside whizzing past them.

Sitting back down, Malcolm looked at the new arrivals. "You want Tobey to deal you in? We seem to have finished our hand." He looked down ruefully at the scattered cards on the floor.

Perren looked over at Patricia. "Sure, my chess set is in my trunk, Merlin knows where that is now. I think it got stuck onto the prefect's car."

The tall girl nodded as well. Malcolm frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard her name before. "Is something the matter?" she asked in an amused tone.

"Nothing really," Malcolm waved airily. "I just feel like I should know your name from somewhere."

She chuckled, a low and throaty sound that seemed a lot older than her years. Malcolm noticed Perren's face get a little pink. "You're probably thinking about my Uncle Florean's ice cream parlor on Diagon Alley."

Malcolm snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that was it. I'll have to try it some time." As soon as he said that, he realized he'd made a mistake, as everyone but Annalise stared at him.

"You've never been there?" Tobey asked. "Merlin, your folks must be awful if they've never let you." Malcolm didn't miss the glare Patricia shot at the boy.

Malcolm shrugged "We've been out of the country, I've only been to Diagon Alley once since we returned to England." It was technically true. He also noticed Annalise looking at him curiously now. Though her English was flawless, he was pretty sure he'd heard a Russian accent when she was cursing at Perren. With a name like Dolohov, she might actually spend a lot of time in Eastern Europe or Russia. He filed that thought away for future examination, though he wasn't sure why he was so concerned.

At least his explanation seemed to have satisfied his companions. The conversation moved on to other topics. The chief one regarded what would happen when they arrived at Hogwarts. Tobey, Patricia, and Perren's parents had all attended Hogwarts, while Annalise said her parents had gone to a school in Northern Europe call Durmstrang. Perren's cousin had graduated two years ago. He mentioned that all of the new students went through some sort of test that sorted them into different houses within the school. His cousin, however, refused to divulge any details.

"I don't think he was doing it just to be shirty, either," the boy scowled, waving his hands, "though I wouldn't put it past the prat."

"My uncle said something once about 'a bloody hat'," Tobey said quietly. The boy glowered down at a deck of cards he was shuffling, but Malcolm could feel the tension radiating from him.

"Well," he said, trying to change the subject, "we'll just deal with it when we get there. Maybe we'll all end up in the same house. I dare say I could do a lot worse than get stuck with you lot." He smiled as he said it, but he knew it to be true. He hadn't had many opportunities in his life to hang around with people his own age, let alone people he had anything in common with. When he met other diplomats' kids at embassy functions, they usually didn't speak the same language, and the few that did were often hostile or utterly spoiled. He was going to be spending the next seven years going to school with these people. That alone was more of a bond than he'd had with anyone since…

He abruptly terminated that line of thought and shrugged at his fellow travelers. Tobey cleared his throat and started dealing another hand. When Malcolm looked up from the absolutely awful hand he'd been dealt, he noticed Annalise studying him out of the corner of her eye. _She's sharper than she lets on,_ he realized, _I better watch what I say around her._ He grimaced as he made his first play.

The idle chatter continued as they played several more hands. Malcolm was careful to not volunteer very much and just listened. Even asking the wrong questions could get him in trouble, he realized. It was a little sad, he thought, that he needed to stay on his guard even now, though he supposed it would be good practice for later.

He did, however, learn a few things about the other people. Tobey wouldn't say a thing about his family, but Patricia was quite open. Most of her family worked in some way that connected with her Uncle Florean's shop. Her parents ran a dairy farm in Yorkshire with some 'very special cows'. Her cousins all worked as servers in the shop, or helped prepare ingredients. She herself had learned how to refresh freezing charms at a very young age, using her uncle's wand when he was busy with customers. Tobey asked how she got away with doing underage magic, but she just shrugged and said since she was using her uncle's wand, and he was a blood relation, they probably assumed it was him doing it.

Perren's parents, both Ravenclaw graduates of Hogwarts, worked for the Ministry of Magic as Unspeakables. From what Malcolm understood, they did some sort of top secret research for the 'Department of Mysteries', whatever the heck that was. Again, he didn't want to ask too many questions and reveal the extent of his ignorance.

Annalise actually spoke the least, but from what he gathered from other peoples' comments, she came from a very old and prestigious pureblood wizarding family in Eastern Europe. Privately, Malcolm thought they looked scary as hell when he saw them on platform nine and three-quarters.

"So, did you two," he pointed at Perren and Trish, "know each other before, or are you naturally gifted at bickering?" He smiled as the auburn-haired girl sputter and Perren laughed out loud. Malcolm could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile flicker across Annalise's lips as well.

"Let's see…" Perren pondered thoughtfully, "I think we've cordially despised each other since, what, age five?"

"At least by six," Patricia agreed. "You were an awful whinging little brat when your parent brought you to the store that time you'd skinned your knee."

"Hey! That bloody hurt! I nearly knocked all the hide off the front of it!"

"Yeah, chasing that poor cat!" she countered.

"That 'poor cat' was a three foot long kneazel cross-breed monster that sodding near ate my owl!" Perren objected hotly.

"So how long have you two been dating?" Malcolm interjected as Patricia opened her mouth. Both of them made strangled cries and began throwing cards at him.

"Shoes on the other foot now, isn't it Hawkshorn?" Tobey asked, grinning.

Perren froze, He glared at Malcolm for a moment then started laughing.

Trish shook her head, muttering, then turned and struck up a conversation with Annalise. After a moment, the pale girl started replying and they conversed in low tones.

"Anyway…" Perren said, turning away from the girls in his seat to indicate his indifference to the snub. "Any more news on Black?"

Tobey scowled for a moment, but said "Nothing new in the Daily Prophet. Suppose he's still out there, then."

Malcolm almost asked who Black was before he caught himself.

"Wonder if the Ministry is offering a reward for his capture?" Perren said thoughtfully. Tobey grinned in an almost feral manner, but Patricia spun back around. _So much for ignoring us,_ Malcolm thought with amusement.

"Don't be an idiot," she snapped. "Sirius Black was imprisoned for murdering a dozen people with a single curse, not to mention what he did for You-Know-Who! When he's caught it'll be by a team of aurors, not a first year student who barely knows how to hold his wand."

"Wasn't thinking about bagging him myself, luv," Perren said with a smile, "I'm more the 'flooing the authorities and telling them where I saw him' type. I am however, sincerely touched by your concern." The skinny boy waggled his eyebrows and the redhead made an exasperated sound.

Malcolm noticed the blond girl's eyes shifting between Perren and Patricia in confusion. After a moment she scowled and looked back out the window.

The four of them started up another game, and Malcolm found himself holding his own a bit better. Annalise showed zero interest in doing anything other than brooding, which was probably just as well. She seemed to be about as much fun as a broken leg. _Does being a rich pureblood do that for you? Or is she just a particular pain?_

The compartment door slid back and he could see a heavy-set witch pushing a cart. "Would you like something off the cart?" she asked.

Malcolm stood up and peered at the cart, seeing a wide variety of candies and sweets on it. He still had his lunch, and honestly he'd never been one for sweets. They usually were hard to get in some of the places his father had worked, and the local equivalents were sometimes quite odd-tasting. Perren and Tobey, on the other hand, did not hesitate. As they dug Sickles and Knuts out of their pockets, Malcolm reminded himself that he had to make that small bag of coins last as long as possible.

Patricia shook her head as Perren returned to their bench seat, arms loaded with bizarre confections. "You are hopeless," she said and sighed.

"I'm a growing boy," he replied loftily.

"You're an appetite with feet, that's what you are. You're always spending your last Knut on food."

"Oy! Not with the little miss financial planner act again?" Perren cried out in mock horror.

"People who go through life like you do always wonder why they come to a bad end," she replied primly.

"And people like **you**," he countered, "hit the end of the line and wonder when they were supposed to have lived a little."

"Perren," Patricia replied with a long-suffering tone, "I spent all summer working in an Ice Cream parlor. I've had all the sweets I'm going to want for a while."

"Oh. Right." Perren shut his mouth, flushing. "I suppose you don't want any of my Chocolate Frogs then?"

The tall girl smiled. "I'm fine, but Annalise might like to try one," she said gently.

"Oy! Dolohov!" Perren called out and tossed a bright foil package at the girl.

Annalise caught it reflexively, her mouth hanging open. Finally, she said "Thank you, Mister Hawkshorn" in a quiet voice. She looked down at the package as she opened it. Malcolm blinked as he realized the chocolate was actually moving, trying to jump out of her hands until she took a small bite of it.

"You want one, Malcolm?" Tobey asked him.

"That's all right, I packed a lunch. Thanks though," he added. He reached into his bag and pulled out a sandwich and started to unwrap it. Everyone was quiet as they ate. Surprisingly, it was more of a comfortable silence, and Malcolm chewed, reflecting on how odd a thing this was.

Even though it was still afternoon, the countryside got darker as the clouds stacked up. The door to their compartment banged open again and a tall thin boy with slicked back blond hair stuck his head in. He looked back and forth, a sneer fixed on his face. Beyond him, Malcolm could see two larger boys flanking him.

"Can I help you," Malcolm ask coolly.

"Just looking for someone," the blond boy replied, looking him up and down. "None of your concern."

Malcolm stared back at him, dislike curdling his half-digested lunch.

The boy slid the door shut, but not before they could hear his voice carry. "Just some useless first-years. Potter and Weasley must be farther back, along with that mudblood Granger."

Malcolm jumped a little when Patricia let out a hiss of anger. They all turned to look at her. "Did you hear that word he used?" she asked angrily.

"What, mudblood?" Tobey asked in confusion.

"That's a **highly** offensive word for muggle-born wizards. I can't believe a Hogwarts student gets away with using it."

Perren's lips thinned, but Tobey laughed out loud. Annalise was frowning at the girl, but she turned with the rest towards the stocky boy.

"He gets away with it because he's Draco bloody Malfoy, that's why," Tobey said bitterly. "His father sits on the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

"Ugh," Perren said.

"I understand the Malfoy family is quite prominent," Annalise said quietly.

"Well, if that's the next generation," Patricia snapped, "then I'd say their fortunes are due for a sharp down-turn."

Before Annalise could argue, Perren cut in. "Is that your fancy way of saying he's a right git, Trish?"

The Fortescue girl colored at the nickname and they went back to wrangling over that. Malcolm noticed Annalise looking around uncertainly. He wondered why he was watching her so much, but realized that she represented a mystery. Her family was more than passing strange. Why was she attending Hogwarts?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 9

The light from the window paled and diminished as the clouds above grew darker. Malcolm squinted at his cards until the lamps in their compartment ignited, casting a warm glow. He glanced out at the rain sheeting across the window and shivered. He was glad to be inside the warm compartment, and not out in that mess.

They played a couple of hands before he felt the train start to slow down. "Are we there yet?" he asked in a mocking sing-song, but no one got the joke.

Perren pushed up the sleeve of his robe and consulted an elaborate watch. "Seems a bit early to me," he said with a frown.

Annalise had her nose to the window, peering out through the heavy rain. "I don't see the train station," she said quietly. "Something is out there though," she whispered as her voice trailed off. Malcolm's eyes widened as he saw ice start to form on the window.

The train continued to slow down, and finally jerked to a halt, pitching Malcolm and Tobey forward out of their seats. The lamps suddenly all went out, plunging the compartment into darkness.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm snarled, struggling to his feet. The unfamiliar robes tripped him up the first time he tried to stand. He felt Tobey's firm grip on his upper arm steadying him. "Thanks Rookwood," he muttered.

"Did the train break down?" Perren asked.

"Dunno," Tobey replied. "I never heard of the Hogwarts Express breaking down before."

They stood there in the darkness, listening to muffled voices echo from the corridor. Malcolm glanced back at the window. Only a faint grey radiance was filtering through the storm, silhouetting Annalise, who had a fist clenched around her wand. The light was enough to see that a thick layer of ice had crusted over the glass.

Then he heard a door ratcheting open in the corridor, shockingly loud in the sudden stillness. Malcolm spun back toward the door. He could swear he heard the sound of a booming explosion in the distance, the shriek of metal tearing like paper. "Wands out," he snapped, jaw clenched. "Can someone make some light?" he asked, trying not to let his voice shake.

"L-l-lumos!" Patricia stammered and a faint light emerged from the end of her wand. Malcolm could see everyone was on their feet in the center of the compartment, except for Annalise who was standing on her seat next to the window. She glanced from the frosted window to the door and back, the sudden motion making her long hair whip about. Her face had gone as pale as milk.

They stood there, barely breathing, as the air chilled around them. Malcolm's heart leapt into his throat when the door handle began to slowly turn. Each click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the silent compartment. He almost reached forward to stop it when he saw the hoarfrost growing on the tarnished metal.

The door slid open and Malcolm was face to hood with one of the Dementors of Azkaban.

He'd encountered them before at Hogwarts, but that was from a distance, with Headmaster Dumbledore standing beside him. The ragged cloak was barely a yard away now, and he felt the terror wash over him like a tidal wave. He heard the car bomb detonate like it was happening again, the bone-jarring thud accompanied by the shriek of metal, trailing off into the shrieks of the maimed and dying. His father. Nigel and 'his lads'. All gone. Malcolm felt his gorge rise, but a sudden wash of fury dispelled his nausea. They'd caught the bastards. Moslem countries do not bother imprisoning convicted murderers. He'd been a guest of honor when the terrorists were decapitated in the middle of a bloody market square. _I am not going through this again! _He howled inside his own mind.

"Get back!" he screamed, brandishing his wand. Sparks and black motes shot out again, filling the air around the students. Malcolm's skin tingled and the sounds he was hearing were suddenly cut off. The dementor halted its advance, but the hood was turning to look directly at him now. Malcolm desperately did not want to know what was under that hood. A hand emerged from the cloak, looking like it belonged to a cadaver that had rotted underwater, all grey and glistening, and now his gorge was rising again at the sweet stench of putrefaction.

A beam of blue light struck the dementor's sleeve, and then another hit it in the chest. The curses didn't appear to have any effect, but Malcolm was shaken out of his fascinated daze. He could hear Annalise cursing behind him in a mixture of English and what sounded like Russian, as a barrage of hexes flew over his head at the cloaked horror.

Malcolm shook himself and growled. He was shaking with rage now. "Get out of here, you foul bastard. If Dumbledore catches you molesting students, he'll have your arse for toerags!" He jabbed his wand at it again, and black motes literally spewed from the end of it like a hose. Malcolm's skin was itching like it was on fire.

He almost dropped his wand when the Dementor glided back into the corridor.

Malcolm stood there, willing his knees not to buckle as his breath frosted in the chilly air. He swore he could _feel_ the other students behind him, breathing raggedly. He could hear Annalise mumbling to herself as she gasped for air.

Silver light washed over the side of the dementor, and Malcolm was relieved to hear an adult's voice call out. "Sirius Black is not on this train. Get out of here." The dementor shot away down the corridor like it had been blown by a hard wind.

He was still shaking with reaction when an older man in threadbare robes stuck his head into the compartment. He frowned at them for a moment, his pale eyes wandering over them before fixing on Malcolm. "Is everyone all right?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Yes sir," Malcolm replied. He didn't recognize the man as a professor, but he appeared to have driven off the dementor, and that was good enough for him.

"Good," he said, then nodded toward Perren's stack of sweets, scattered forgotten across the bench. "Share out some of that chocolate. It should counter the worst of the dementor's effect. I'm going to see to the conductor. Keep this door shut and locked." With that, he slid the door shut and Malcolm snapped the locking bar shut half a second later.

When he turned back to the other students, they were all staring at him. "What?" he asked irritably.

Tobey's voice shook. "H-how did you do that?"

"Do what?" Malcolm asked. _What is he going on about?_

"I, we, we could hardly talk when that, that _thing_ came in. And y-you stood there and cursed it out… and it **left**!" Tobey looked at him with something like awe.

"That was bloody brilliant!" Perren agreed. "How did you do it?"

"I, well, I don't know. I think it just felt that Wizard coming. That's why it left."

"Yeah, but you backed it off first, Mal," Perren insisted. "My mum says they use those things to guard the wizard prison because they drain the magic from wizards and drive them mad."

"Maybe they are out looking for Sirius Black," Patricia said thoughtfully.

"I think you're spot on, Trish," Perren agreed. "I know what Dad meant now," he said with a shudder.

"What do you mean?" Tobey asked curiously. His shaking had subsided, though he still rubbed his arms.

"When I asked him how dementors could stop a wizard from using his magic, he told me they suck all the good feelings and memories right out of you, and then the bloody things make you re-live your worst memories over and over again. With all that going on, no wonder the prisoners can't do a lick of magic." He frowned. "I kept hearing my mum crying after they told her about Grandfather."

Malcolm nodded, "That makes sense then."

"How's that?" Tobey asked.

"I got angry because I kept hearing that damn explosion."

"What explosion?" Perren asked, ignoring Patricia swatting him on the shoulder.

"The one the muggles set that killed my father," Malcolm said hollowly. The redhaired girl let out a gasp and swallowed. Even Tobey looked a little sick. Malcolm shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, he said we'd all feel a little better if we ate some chocolate. Perren, can I take you up on your previous offer?"

The small boy nodded eagerly and gathered up the chocolate frogs.

Malcolm took a deep breath and blew it out. He looked up at Annalise, who was still standing on her seat in the corner of the compartment. "Thanks, Anna," he said, making her look up and scowl. "Seriously," he said spreading his hands in a placating gesture, "that was an awesome barrage of curses you were throwing. I don't think I recognized a third of those."

"They did not seem to work very well," she said crossly, though she did accept another chocolate frog from Perren.

Malcolm shrugged. "They can't have made him feel too welcome," he smiled at her. Honestly, he was amazed that she'd kept her head with that thing in the room. _She's tougher than she looks,_ he thought to himself as he chewed on the wriggling chocolate. Slow warmth began to spread out from his stomach.

A few minutes later the train jerked into motion again and the ice started to melt off the window. The lamps re-lighted and Patricia muttered "Nox," extinguishing her wand.

After two chocolate frogs, Malcolm was feeling pretty much normal again. Or at least what passed for normal with him. Every so often he would catch Perren or Tobey staring at him.

Finally, Patricia sighed theatrically. "I swear, you two. If you don't stop staring at Malcolm, I'm going to hex you."

Tobey flushed and looked guilty, but Perren just shrugged. "I never heard of anyone standing up to a dementor like that before. Wish I had your guts, mate!" he smiled.

Malcolm grunted. "More like I didn't know enough to be afraid. Now that I do, I'll probably lose it like a proper firstie."

Everyone but Annalise chuckled at that, and much of the tension was dispelled. The haughty blond girl still peered at him curiously from time to time, but he shrugged it off. _She's an odd bird, no doubt about that._

A bloody scene break – hopefully FF won't zap this as well

Freezing rain was pouring down when they got off the train. A familiar bellow called out above the din "Firs' years this way!" Malcolm looked around until he saw Hagrid towering above the black-robed students. He called out to some of the older students as well, who were picking their way toward the horseless carriages assembled in front of the train station.

They followed the gigantic man down a steep narrow path through the woods. Malcolm's boots had heavy treads, but he still slipped and slid in the icy mud. After both Tobey and Perren had gone down on one knee, Malcolm insisted they link hands. Just in time too, as Perren and Tobey were barely able to keep Patricia from falling backwards when her feet shot out from under her. Holding Tobey's hand in his left hand, Malcolm hung back and deliberately grabbed Annalise's hand in his.

She immediately tried to jerk her hand free, scowling at him. "Calm down Dolohov, I just don't want you cracking your skull and making us all late for dinner."

Annalise was just opening her mouth to retort when both her feet went sideways. Only her grip on Malcolm's arm kept her from going down. After righting herself, she nodded and said nothing… though two spots of color did burn on her cheeks.

Malcolm wisely chose to refrain from commenting about her footwear.

The path eventually led down to the shore of the lake. Hogwarts itself was barely visible as a brightly lit blur through the steady downpour. Beached in front of them was a small fleet of rowboats.

"Nae more than four tae a boat," Hagrid called out.

Annalise made an impatient noise and shook free of Malcolm's hand. She deliberately got into a boat by herself as the rest of them loaded into one next to it. Eventually, a pair of dark-haired boys who might have been twins got in with her.

Tobey elbowed Malcolm, raising his eyebrows. Malcom just shrugged. He was too cold, wet, hungry, and tired to care at this point.

"Everyone settled?" Hagrid called out, standing there in water that was barely shin-deep on him. Nodding, he climbed into a boat by himself and called out "Alrigh' then – Forward!"

With no pulling of oars, the boats moved away from the shore, following Hagrid's dingy across the churning lake.

Malcolm could make out a few more details as they got closer to the castle. He heard muted gasps coming from the boats around them. Patricia was blinking rapidly and even Tobey and Perren had awed expressions as the brightly lit castle emerged from the misty night air.

The castle itself was perched on a rocky outcropping that loomed over the edge of the lake they were approaching. Malcolm couldn't see any signs of a dock, and peered forward in some consternation. Finally, he realized the shadow under the ivy at the base was actually a low-ceilinged tunnel cut into the rock.

"Get yer heads down!" Hagrid called out as the first boat began to push through the loose stems.

Malcolm leaned back and peered up at the rough-hewn roof passing a few feet over his head. He glanced at the boat in front of him as voices carried back to his ear.

"This is brilliant!" one of the boys in Annalise' boat said to the one next to him. Malcolm noticed that both boys were crowded into the front of their boat, craning their necks to try and peer around Professor Hagrid's massive shadow. Annalise was in the rear of the boat, leaning away from them with an expression of distaste. He saw her hands, white-knuckled on the gunwales, and wondered if she had a problem with darkness or closed-in spaces.

One of the boys in the front of her boat was leaning far to the left, trying to peer ahead. Malcolm opened his mouth to say something when he overbalanced and pitched forward. His companion caught his arm just in time and hauled mightily backwards. His quick action kept his friend out of the water, but it also made the boat pitch violently.

Annalise was caught off guard, and jumped when a gout of cold water burst over her side of the boat. Cringing back from the freezing water, she lost her balance and tumbled over the back of the boat.

Malcolm let out a gasp as the dark water closed over her head. She immediately burst to the surface, but it was obvious she was in trouble. She desperately splashed, trying to keep her head above water. He knew that even if she could swim, her heavy velvet robes would weigh her down in moments. Fortunately, their boat was next in line.

"Perren, Trish," he called out. "Lean hard to the left so we don't capsize. Tobey, grab my hand and hold on!" With that, he leaned out over the right side of the boat as they passed the sputtering girl. He managed to grab one of her flailing arms, and in a moment she had a death-grip on his arm. He could feel Tobey's hands gripping his left hand and forearm as he hauled on the girl.

For a moment, he didn't think it was going to work. Those water-logged robes were **heavy**. The gunwale digging into his right shoulder was also dipping down toward the icy water. "Grab my hand, Trish!" he heard Perren bark, and the small boat slowly started to right itself. Malcolm felt like his arms were being pulled out of the sockets, but Annalise was next to the boat now. He leaned farther down and wrapped his arm around her middle. He was losing feeling in his forearm where her fingers were dug in. With a final jerk that promised future aches, he managed to wrestle her into the boat.

The boat suddenly rocked back to the left and he heard Patricia grunt. He looked up to see her haul Perren back from where he was leaning over the opposite side of the boat. He ended up sprawled on top of her in the bottom of the boat. Tobey looked away as they both blushed crimson. Perren coughed as he fairly leaped off the auburn haired girl and back onto the bench seat.

Malcolm had his own troubles though, mainly involving a lap full of freezing wet girl. Annalise was shivering and coughing violently. He wrapped his arm around her as the chilly water ran off her robes and soaked through his. She coughed up an amazing amount of water, spattering the bottom of the boat as Patrician got back onto her seat with a worried expression. By the time she was done, her fine blond hair was straggling across her face. She looked up, trying to catch her breath again, and her face was a mess, nose running, the whole bit.

Malcolm grimace and wiped at her face with the sleeve of his robe. She shuddered for a moment, and he was reminded of Hagrid's puppy for some reason. Finally, she started clawing her hair back out of her face and trying to sit up. Her lips were pressed together and her face began to flush. He awkwardly scooted over next to Tobey on the bench seat so she could sit down next to him.

He looked away from her as she began trying to tuck her hair behind her ears. The small flotilla of boats had emerged into larger open cavern. The ceiling was high enough to be unlit by the torches lit at the far end. Each boat in turn, moved toward the pebbly shore and firmly beached itself.

Hagrid loomed over them on the shore, counting the students as they disembarked. Finally, he turned and glared down at Malcolm. "You there, boy. What's yer name?"

Malcolm wondering what Hagrid was up to. "Malcolm Smith, sir."

"Well, Mister Smith, I told ye, four students per boat. Ye'll be reporting tae me for detention after ye get settled in at yer dormitory tonight." The large man glowered down at him for a moment, then quickly blinked his left eye. "Follow me!" he called out and led the students up a flight of stone steps toward a huge oak door.

"What the bloody hell?" Tobey hissed under his breath, startling Malcolm. "Were you just supposed to let her drown?" the boy continued. Perren just nodded, but he looked equally mutinous. Patricia gave both boys a quelling look, but didn't say anything. Malcolm noticed Annalise stiffen in front of them, but she continued walking.

"Don't worry about it," Malcolm whispered, though he was a little gratified by their outrage on his behalf. "I did, technically, violate a safety rule. If he didn't come down on me, someone else would do something worse next time." Tobey just looked at him like he'd gone stark raving mad.

When Professor Hagrid reached the door, he knocked on it three times. No sooner had the echoes of the third booming knock died down than the door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, scowling woman in emerald green robes that Malcolm recognized as Professor McGonagall. He remembered her as being rather reserved and stern during the meals before term, and he now realized that was her in "vacation mode". He quickly resolved not to mess about in any class he took with her.

"I brought th' firs' years, Professor," Hagrid said solemnly.

"Thank you Hagrid," she said with a thin smile. "Follow me, students." She led them through the enormous vaulted Great Hall into a small side chamber. Malcolm made an effort to appear as nervous as the other first year student. _Don't want to arouse any suspicions if I can help it, _he mused.

The stern professor turned and addressed the students crowded together in the small chamber. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room." She looked around once, maybe to see if there were any questions.

"The four houses," she continued, "are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has it's noble history, and each has produced outstanding wizards and witches. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes roamed with disapproval over the muddy shoes and robes worn by many students, and lingered on Malcolm and Annalise, who were audibly dripping on the stone floor.

"I will return when we are ready for you," she concluded. "Please wait quietly."

As she swept out of the room, Malcolm grinned as he heard several people release the breath they were holding. His smile turned to a grimace though, as he plucked at his sodden robes that were sticking to his legs and stomach. He sighed as Tobey and Perren whispered about how mean that professor looked and Patricia was speaking too quietly to hear with Annalise. Malcolm watched as the tall girl pulled out her wand and closed her eyes. After a moment of concentration, she leaned forward and tapped Annalise on the shoulder as she said "scourgify" in a low voice.

"Hey!" hissed a voice from behind them. Malcolm turned to see one of the boys that had ridden on the boat with Annalise. "You shouldn't be doing magic in here!"

Malcolm glared down at the shorter boy. "The professor didn't specifically say we couldn't. She probably wouldn't appreciate all the dripping on the floor."

"It says in _Hogwarts: A History_ that students aren't allowed to do magic in the halls between classrooms," his twin added crossly.

"She wouldn't even **need** a cleansing charm," Tobey growled, stepping forward. "If the two of you hadn't been playing silly buggers in the boat and dumped her out. Malcolm's already got detention because of you, so shut your gobs or you'll go through the Sorting Ceremony with bloody noses." He wasn't really any taller than the twins, but the thick-set boy practically radiated malice. When he cracked his knuckles, the two quickly turned away, muttering to each other.

When he turned back around, Patricia had loaned Annalise a comb to try and salvage her tangled hair. The smaller girl looked down as she worked through the knots, but her cheeks were a little hot. Patricia looked over at him and smiled. "Would you like?" she said quietly, gesturing with her wand.

"I'd appreciate it," he replied. The auburn-haired girl tapped him on the shoulder as she repeated the incantation. He felt his skin tingle as the upper half of his robe dried. She frowned and waved the wand in a more decisive manner, and said the word a bit louder. Malcolm flinched back as the tingle was more like a momentary burning sensation, but now his clothes were completely dry. As he felt himself start to get warm for what felt like the first time in hours, he smiled at her and nodded. "Thanks!"

She frowned back at him. "Your hair is sticking straight up though," she worried.

He shrugged and raked his fingers back across his scalp. "It does that once it gets wet. As long as half of it isn't going sideways, I'm happy."

She shook her head with amusement and started fussing at Perren and Tobey about their robes.

They were interrupted by Professor McGonagall's voice coming from the doorway. "Come along now," she said, "the Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Form a line and follow me."

A/N:

Yes, Minerva's speech to the first years is the same as the one Harry heard in SS. Did you really think after all the years she's done this she doesn't have one memorized?

I'd like to thank my lovely Beta Runsamok for catching the worst of my typos. I'm still hoping to find a good Brit-Picker or two… so if you see some glaring cultural errors, please let me know.

Please read and review… I have a rough outline for where this is going, but if you have any specific aspects of "life in the reptile house" that you'd like to see explored, give me a holler. (My reviews to hits ratio is around 1 percent, so those that do bother to respond will have an inordinate amount of influence on the author. )

Frog1 – I figured it was pretty obvious JKR owns it all, but given some experiences some people I know have had, yer right – better to be safe than sorry!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 10

Malcolm had never seen the Great Hall packed with so many people. Four very long tables dominated the room, dozens of students lining each side of the trestles. Each of the large tables also had a translucent figure floating above it. Malcolm stared hard at what he guessed were the house ghosts. They hadn't been hanging about the castle the previous two weeks. _Do ghosts take holidays?_ he wondered idly.

The faculty now sat separately, their table on a raised platform on the end opposite the main entrance. Professor McGonagall led the first year students to the open area before the platform. A simple stool waited on the flagstones, a ragged old hat perched on the cushion. Malcolm swore under his breath when the pointed top twitched, and he stared as a rip near the edge opened up and a voice filled the hall with song:

_The hall is lit with candles tall._

_The year, it has turned._

_The leaves are changing, soon to fall._

_The students have returned._

_New faces peer, full of fright._

_How shall we sort you out?_

_Time to choose, get it right_

_I'll see smiles, nary a pout._

_Fair Ravenclaw, a clever lot,_

_Have minds honed and sharp._

_Those Slytherin have clever plots,_

_Tuned to ambition, played like a harp._

_Oh Hufflepuff, steadfast and true_

_They never carp, hard workers all._

_Gryffindor, the courageous few-_

_Against their foes, they never fall._

_As a thinking cap, I am no fool._

_I'll see your place, your proper nook._

_The founder's helper, Godric's tool,_

_Put me on, I'll have a look._

Malcolm was forcibly reminded of something he'd learned his first day at Hogwarts during the summer: "If it can make your day a little weirder, expect it to happen."

The new students were all looking at each other and muttering when McGonagall's voice silenced them again. "When I call your name, place the hat on your head and sit on the stool."

"Archibald, James."

A smallish boy with dirty blond hair hesitantly made his way to the stool and put on the hat. It barely stayed up, balanced on his protruding ears, while he sat on the stool. After a moment, the 'mouth' opened up again and the hat announced, "Ravenclaw!" in a loud voice.

The boy carefully placed the hat back on the stool and then raced over to the table under the blue and bronze banner. The Ravenclaw students clapped and waved him over to an empty seat.

"Brice, Edna." A short girl with frizzy blond hair crept up to the stool, looking all around her and swallowing.

"Hufflepuff!" The hat yelled almost the instant it touched her head.

She yelped and almost dropped the hat before she ran over to the cheering students under the yellow and black banner.

Malcolm listened as the stern professor worked her way through the alphabetical list. Soon, she called out "Dolohov, Annalise."

The small blond girl tucked a stray lock behind her ear as she swept toward the stool. Her velvet-trimmed robes, cleansed by Patricia's charm, looked like they'd just been laundered. She donned the ragged Sorting Hat without a trace of awkwardness and sat on the stool closing her eyes. There was a long pause before the hat called out "Slytherin!"

She removed the hat and swept toward the table under the green and silver banner. No one sat on the far end of the table, so she sat on the very corner. Annalise never looked back as she passed the unsorted students still lined up, but Malcolm noticed her jaw seemed clenched.

After a few more students, it was "Fortescue, Patricia."

The tall girl sauntered toward the stool, head held high. After a moment, the hat called out "Slytherin!" and Malcolm heard Perren gasp. Patricia didn't say anything, but her face bore a slight frown as she walked over to sit opposite Annalise.

Her reaction was nothing compared to Perren's. When the hat announced "Slytherin!" his eyes bulged and he tore the hat off his head. He glared at the offending headwear for a moment, and Malcolm wondered if he was going to rip it in two. He stalked over to the table and sat down beside Patricia.

As more students were called up, Malcolm wondered why Perren was so upset. He recalled the boy saying most of his family was in Ravenclaw, but did this make that large a difference?

He was thinking so hard about the implications that he almost didn't notice when Tobey left his side. The hat was on his head for no more than a moment before it announced "Slytherin!" Tobey didn't look at all surprised, and quietly walked over to the Slytherin table and sat next to Perren. Patricia was talking to the boy in low tones, and he looked a little less upset when Tobey sat beside him as well.

Next came "Smith, Malcolm."

Malcolm stepped forward and walked over to the stool. He could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on him, and it gave him a peculiar itchy feeling between his shoulder blades. He picked up the hat and made sure he was securely sitting before he placed it on his head.

"_Well, well, well," an amused voice echoed in his mind. "I did not expect to see you here."_

"_What were you expecting?" Malcolm replied silently, "an erkling in platform shoes?" His weird-shite-o-meter was getting overloaded and his headache was back again._

_The hat did not seem to pick up on the sarcasm. "It's been a while since a LeStrange was back at Hogwarts. Your bloodline has a long history with the Slytherin house. It should be easy to place you there… you've got the ambition, the drive, and more than your fair share of cleverness. You value secrets and do not trust easily. But…"_

"_But I have to be a pureblood to be in Slytherin," Malcolm objected. _

"_But you are," the hat replied. "Your lineage is more than enough to satisfy Salazar's requirements for his house."_

"_But my mum, she-"_

"_Was a pureblood witch; that much I can tell, but no more. The only question regards the fact that you also have qualities that would serve you well elsewhere. There's bravery enough for a Gryffindor, or-"_

_Malcolm thought of the people he'd ridden the train with, sitting together at the end of the Slytherin table, and broke in at that point. "Slytherin is fine with me," he interrupted._

"_How very odd," the hat replied after a moment. "Joining Slytherin out of **loyalty**, something no Hufflepuff would ever do. I could see where you would end up, but not why. I think this could make for a very interesting year, young master LeStrange. I'll be listening, as I sit in the headmaster's office. I'll expect great things of you in-"_

"Slytherin!" the hat shouted, making Malcolm jump. He doffed the hat as he slid off the stool. The protracted conversation inside his head seemed to take less time than he realized, because no one looked at him oddly as he stumbled toward the green and silver banner with the snake motif.

Malcolm felt his stomach lurch a little at the smile he saw on Patricia, Perren, and Tobey's faces. Annalise didn't turn around, but she also didn't object when he sat down beside her. "Hell of a coincidence," he whispered as he slid onto the bench. The three sitting opposite of him nodded and even Annalise turned and smiled faintly.

He sat thinking about probabilities as the Headmaster welcomed them to another year at Hogwarts and warned them (a bit belatedly he thought) about the dementors guarding the school. Nigel taught him never to accept a coincidence at face value. Annalise and Tobey didn't seem surprised to be sorted into Slytherin, but Patricia seemed surprised and Perren looked downright horrified. No other students had been sent to this table, while the other three houses had eight to ten new students. Some of the older students to his right seemed to have noticed this and he heard two of the closest muttering darkly to each other about their house being shorted this year.

_What are the odds,_ Malcolm mused darkly, _that the five people in that compartment end up being the only ones sorted into Slytherin this year? That bloody hat is up to something._

Dumbledore continued to speak, and they learned that the shabbily-dressed wizard on the train was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Malcolm figured anyone who could drive off a dementor probably knew what he was doing, but the older Slytherin students felt his robes were a disgrace. _Maybe he does look a bit threadbare,_ he thought in disgust, _but what does that have to do with how well he can teach us?_ The only real applause came from the Gryffindor table, which lead to even more sneering.

Malcolm had to restrain himself from applauding when Professor Hagrid's promotion was announced. He was supposed to be angry with him about the detention, or risk blowing his cover. From the malice directed toward the new teacher by the older Slytherins, Malcolm concluded he would do well to keep his opinions to himself. The applause from the other three tables (especially the Gryffindors) more than made up for the icy silence that descended on their table.

He looked across at Tobey, who was scowling darkly as well. Malcolm wondered what the problem was, but then he remembered the 'detention' he was to serve that night. He raised his eyebrows at the angry boy and shrugged. "I'll see how bad this detention is before I decide to hex him," he said in a low voice and Tobey snorted.

With that, the Headmaster told everyone to dig in, and in a blink the platters and serving dishes before them were piled high with hot food. Malcolm smiled as he and his friends dug in.

A/N:

I'd like to thanks Runsamok for her help with the Sorting Hat song. A lot of fan fics manage to arrange things so they skip that song, so I wanted to go against the cliché and have one in there.

After spending more time than I care to think about trying to write poetry, I understand better why they skip it!

Without Runny's expert assistance, Malcolm would have to have undergone a serious attack of daydreaming during this chapter, or maybe fallen out of the boat and gotten water in his ears. Seriously, my poetical ability maxxes out at limericks. Thankfully, her's doesn't.

On another note: I've been trying to find a way to indicate scene breaks, but everything I've used so far is getting eliminated when I post. I've tried pound signs, asterisks, break-codes, but nothing seems to work. If anyone knows of a way to do this that **won't** get zapped, please let me know in a review or email.

Thanks for your time!

PS- Edited on 10/7/05 to fix a small error in the table description in the main hall.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 11

As they finished eating, an older boy with shoulder-length black hair got up from the opposite end of the Slytherin table and walked down to their end.

When they looked up, he began speaking without preamble. "I'm Adrian Pucey, one of the prefects you will be reporting to. Get up and follow me."

The rest of the table was still lingering over their desserts, but Malcolm was not inclined to argue. He swallowed the last of his pudding and nodded to the others. As they rose, the older boy turned and strode out of the Great Hall. Malcolm had to walk quickly to keep up, and Perren and Tobey actually had to break into a jog to catch up. The girls lagged slightly behind – Annalise refused to travel faster than a quick walk.

Adrian led them down the stone corridor and down a wide staircase. As the air grey chill and damp, Malcolm realized they were being led into the dungeon level. After going down several twisty stone hallways, the prefect stopped in front of a blank section of wall. "Remember where you are right now," he drawled. "You don't want to get lost down here, do you?" He leered at the first year students and Malcolm restrained the urge to yawn in his face.

"The password for our common room is _pureblood_," he said in a low voice, emphasizing the last word. As he finished, a section of the stone wall sank inward and slid aside. The prefect led them into a large chamber that appeared to have been carved out of solid rock. It was lit by green glass lamps that hung from chains secured to the ceiling, and a massive fireplace at the far end didn't do much to improve the dank and chilly atmosphere.

The prefect gestured for them to sit at a large couch near the door. The room was empty, and Malcolm didn't understand why they weren't sitting closer to the fire. "I have a few things to go over with you lot," he said scowling. "The first thing you need to understand is about status. Things are based on seniority here, and you have none right now. The trim on your robes indicates that you are, in fact, nothing but a first year student, fresh off the Express. If a student that out-ranks you asks you a question or tells you to do something, **you will do it without question.** Do you understand?"

They nodded slowly. Malcolm had an uncomfortably familiar feeling as memory stirred.

"Our head of house is Professor Snape. You will obey his instructions to the letter or what he does to you will not be pretty. Anyone wearing one these badges," he held out the gold badge pinned to the front of his robes, featuring a prominent 'P', "can give you orders, even if they are in another house."

"Percy Weasley," Adrian said the name with obvious distaste, "is the Head Boy. He has a similar badge. He also has authority over you, and can dock house points. Do **not** give that red-haired lickspittle an excuse to penalize us for your actions. Sodding Gryffindor…" he muttered the last.

"At this point, everyone who wears your colors," he pointed to the front of Perren's robe, and they noticed that the green and silver design from the banner now appeared on the left breast of all their school robes, "out ranks you. At this time next year, the new first year students will be subject to your orders. Hopefully by that time you will have figured things out."

"Get used to sitting on this end of the room. If you are sitting closer to the fireplace and a senior student tells you to move," he pause and leaned forward, glaring, "you'd bloody well better move."

"Now," he continued straightening. "The corridor to the male dormitory is through there," he said pointing to a door in the left corner near the fireplace. "And the female dormitory is through there," he added, pointing to a door to the right of the fireplace. "You will enter the door with the number one on it, indicating your year. Attempting to enter the upperclass dormitories could have… unpleasant consequences. If those lazy house-elves have done their jobs, you should find your trunks in your proper rooms. Now, get out of here and go to your dormitories, I'm sick of looking at you."

"Sir," Malcolm said as they all stood up. Adrian just glared at him. Malcolm swallowed, this was a lot like Nigel's stories of basic training. "I have a detention tonight with Professor Hagrid. I was told to report to him after seeing to my trunk."

Adrian blinked. "And **what**, did you do to get a detention your **first** night at Hogwarts?" he hissed.

"Er, well, two of those idiots who ended up in Hufflepuff knocked Annalise out of her boat. She ended up in the water and I pulled her out. That took us over the four per boat rule and Professor Hagrid noticed and gave me a detention."

"I see," Adrian sneered, "how very Gryffindorish of you. Be glad that it happened before your sorting so it didn't cost us house points. Go report to the savage half-blood, but next time consider the consequences of your actions."

Not trusting himself to speak, Malcolm gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel. The stone door opened of its own accord as he approached it. He made a point of memorizing the underground passages he walked through to get to the staircase. As he passed the great hall, he noticed some students were still eating, while others just talked. He wasn't sure why he and his friends were being singled out and made to leave early.

A thought struck him as he trotted down the outside steps and veered toward Hagrid's hut. He wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of the people he'd met on the train as friends. _I've only known them for less than a day_, he thought, puzzled. _On the other hand, they stood with me when that dementor showed up. But still, this is pretty sudden. Is there some magical effect that's doing this? Maybe from the Hat… since it did sort us all into the same house. Maybe that's a side-effect. _

Malcolm found the idea somewhat disturbing. So much so that he ignored a far simpler explanation. He shook his head to clear it as he knocked on the door to Hagrid's hut.

The door flew open and Hagrid's wide face beamed down at him. "Good lad, the lil' feller was startin' tae-"

"Yes professor, I'm reporting for that detention you assigned me," Malcolm said loudly, in an angry tone.

Hagrid blinked and then recovered. "Yeah, that's righ'. Get yerself in her' and get tae work!" he snarled theatrically as she stepped back, leaving the door open.

No sooner had he stepped inside and closed the door than Fang was drooling all over him again. "Woof," Malcolm gasped, "gerroff me, Fang!"

In time, they got the excitable dog calmed down and Malcolm was able to make his way over to the crate. When he pulled back the wadded jumper, a small black head popped up and nudged at his hand.

"'e's a lot stronger now," Hagrid beamed. "Getting' a might bit 'ungry though." He placed a steaming mug next to Malcolm's elbow as the boy ran his fingers across the hellhound puppy's brow. He dipped a finger into the formula and started to give it to his charge. He stopped, though, and sniffed at his finger.

"You added something to this?" he asked curiously.

"Aye, a pinch of sulfur. Supposed tae be good fer 'im," Hagrid confirmed, smiling. "I'd give ye points fer noticin', but we're not in class."

"Don't worry about that," Malcolm reassured him quickly. From their reactions at dinner, he did not want his housemates finding out he was on good terms with Hagrid.

The puppy was evidently hungry, and Malcolm felt a little bad about his protracted absence from Hogwarts that day. He reminded himself that there wasn't anything else he could have done. This time, the tiny canine was much quicker to lick his finger clean of Hagrid's home-made formula. The mug was half-empty before the puppy seemed to be sated. It sat back on its haunches suddenly, letting out an audible burp.

A foul stench made Malcolm's eyes water and his eyebrows curl. He reared back, coughing. Hagrid looked over at him curiously. Malcolm waved his hand in front of his face, wondering why Hagrid didn't react to the smell. Then he noticed the man crunching into one of his home-made rock cakes and started to understand. "I think I've got a good name for him," he choked out.

"What is it?" Hagrid asked, looking up from his tea.

"How does Brimstone sound?" Malcolm asked, trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Well, I guess we canna help people keep calling them Hellhounds, can we?" Hagrid asked. He leaned over the crate. "How do ye like yer name, lil' Brimmy?" he asked the puppy.

Scene Break

It was quite late when Malcolm made it back to his dorm. He passed quite a few of his housemates in the common room, but no one seemed interested in talking to him. He did notice that the tall-backed chairs near the fireplace were all occupied. Oddly enough, Draco Malfoy and his two cohorts were occupying three of them. _There's no way he's a seventh year,_ Malcolm mused. _I think there's a bit more to the Slytherin house rules than Adrian let on._

He opened the door marked with a "1", and found a pleasant, though chilly chamber with five old-fashioned four-poster beds arranged in a rough circle. Only three were made up, and he noticed his footlocker was placed beside the bed closest to the door. A door opposite the entrance was far enough open to reveal a small bathroom. Tobey and Perren were into the other two made up beds, and both looked up as he walked in.

"That bastard kept you long enough," Tobey growled.

Malcolm shrugged. "It's okay; he was actually kind of apologetic about it. He, uh, said he had to hand out detentions for anything involving the boats, because of an accident a few years ago. We mostly sat around his table and I helped feed on of the newborn animals." He smiled. "Just don't tell our housemates he was nice to me. I don't think they like him at all." He felt a little guilty deceiving them, but what he said wasn't completely a lie.

"You can say that again," Tobey agreed. "You should have heard some of the comments they made when they got back from dinner. I think they were more worried about house points though."

Malcolm made a face. "After our wonderful Prefect's 'Welcome to Slytherin' speech, I'm just overwhelmed with concern for what they worry about."

Tobey chuckled quietly, but Perren was silent. Malcolm peered over at the boy and noticed he was writing on a piece of parchment. He looked up after a moment. "I'm writing a letter to my parents. They wanted me to owl them after I got settled in." Malcolm thought he looked less grim when they were recovering from the dementor earlier in the day.

"Are you…?" Malcolm blurted, groping for the right words. "It's not like you can get in trouble for where the hat sorted you, right?"

Perren shrugged, looking nervous. "I don't know. They say that the hat puts you where you belong… that could say something about all of us. My parents are very… well, they had a lot of problems with the Slytherins when they were attending Hogwarts." He looked around and lowered his voice. "I've overheard my dad tell stories about Lucius Malfoy and some of the things that went on here… it was pretty bad in some ways."

Malcolm noticed Tobey was looking away, pretending to look for something in his trunk, but occasionally darting glances back over his shoulder at Perren. "Well," Malcolm said carefully, "it's not like you were here back then, right?"

Perren looked down at the parchment. "I just don't want them thinking I'd be capable of that sort of thing. I… I need to get some sleep and finish this tomorrow." He tossed the parchment and his quill on his nightstand and then changed into his pajamas. Malcolm and Tobey took this as their cue as well.

In a few minutes, the lamps were extinguished and the inhabitants of the darkened room began to drift off to sleep. Malcolm's last conscious though echoed that of his friend. _What have I gotten myself into here?_


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 12

The headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft of Wizardry was in his office before dawn brightened the sky. It often felt like there were not enough hours in the day to keep up with everything. Fortunately, as he got older, he discovered he needed less and less sleep.

Most of the faculty was aware of this, so he was not surprised when he sensed his newest professor approaching the entrance to his office. He instructed the gargoyle to let him pass and leaned back in his chair.

Remus Lupin looked tired and careworn, far different from the quiet and serious prefect he'd been more than a decade earlier. Dumbledore was glad he'd taken him up on his offer. Even if he proved to be an awful teacher, he could hardly be worse than his predecessors… and from what he'd seen of his lesson plans and reports of what had happened on the Hogwarts Express, he didn't think that would prove to be the case.

"Remus, you're up early this morning," he smiled. He hoped his former student would be able to break the curse on his position.

"Good morning, pr- Albus," the younger man replied.

Dumbledore's smile widened. No matter how old they were, his former students required a lot of practice before they could comfortably call him by his first name. "Please, have a seat," he waved his hand toward a guest chair and (with relief) set aside the budget proposals for next term. "Lemon drop?" he asked, smiling benignly as the younger man shook his head. "I heard good things about you from several students yesterday, in addition to Madam Pomfrey. I daresay you will not have to spend much time proving your credentials," he chuckled, eyes twinkling merrily. In a more serious tone, he added. "Harry seemed to be fine by the time he arrived at the Welcoming Feast."

Seemingly in spite of himself, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor returned a faint smile, but his eyes were troubled. "I saw, but there's something else that I wanted to talk to you about. I noticed something… interesting during the attack yesterday."

Albus' smile faded a bit. He'd been horrified to learn that the dementors had interfered with the train. Several students had been heavily traumatized by their presence, including one who already had more than enough to deal with these days. He was meeting with Minister Fudge later that morning to 'express his concerns about their behavior' – it was a meeting Cornelius was not looking forward to. "What was it?" he asked after a moment.

The younger man took a deep breath. "As you know, I was traveling in a car near the rear of the train. This proved to be fortunate when Harry, er, had his reaction. I could tell that more than one of those creatures had boarded the train, so I made my way to the locomotive using the Patronus Charm to force them out. However, when I reach the last dementor, it had already been forced back into the corridor. After sending it on it's way, I checked on the compartment, expecting to find some seventh year students who were good enough to conjure a patronus. Instead, I found a group of first year students brandishing their wands. The one nearest the door looked like he was ready for a fight, and a witch in the back just caught herself before she hexed me."

"A group of first year students?" the headmaster asked raising his eyebrows. "Which ones?"

"All five of them were sorted into Slytherin last night," the professor said quietly, hands clasped in front of him. It didn't escape the headmaster's attention that the fingers were white with pressure. "I find that to be quite… curious. I would wonder what technique they used to repel the dementor and, more importantly, where they learned such information."

Albus leaned back in his chair. "I know one of the students in question has a… unusual… background. But nothing that would explain what you saw. I was a little surprised at how he was sorted, though I suppose that older habits would prevail. I was hoping that… Are you suggesting that those students are…?"

"I am suggesting that there is something quite suspicious in their ability to resist such a powerful creation of Dark Magic. The way they were all Sorted also tests the limits of coincidence," his faded eyes bored into Dumbledore's and the old man was reminded of his fierceness during the struggle against Voldemort.

"Remus, be that as it may, they are all children. Surely you don't think-"

He was cut off by a whispered reply. "I didn't think Sirius could have betrayed us, either."

It was out there in the open now, and the headmaster didn't have an easy answer. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Remus, it was not your fault. I had no inkling of what he was capable of, and I have far more experience in such matters. At the same time, I feel that we must be careful not to… let past mistakes impair our judgment. One of those young men has a background that more than slightly resembles Tom Riddle's. Although he was sorted into the same house, and I'll admit that does concern me, his other actions have been quite different. It gives me hope that we can all overcome the things that happen to us and become better people."

Remus swallowed heavily as the headmaster's point struck home. He pursed his lips and started to rise from his chair, muttering apologies for wasting the headmaster's time.

"No Remus, you were right to bring this to me," Dumbledore said firmly. "I only ask that you give them a chance, as I have done. Keep an eye on them in your classes, and please share your observations with me," he paused and smiled a little wider. "I can't tell you how delighted I am to have someone like you teaching Defense."

In spite of himself, Remus Lupin straightened at the praise.

Scene Break

Perren's alarm clock woke them by screaming insults in a tinny voice. Malcolm was out of his bed, balanced on the balls of his feet and ready to fight before it registered that the voice was not that of an intruder. He quickly sat back down on his bed and began rummaging in his footlocker for clothes. Fortunately Tobey was still asleep and Perren was just now sitting up.

The smaller boy cringed when his bare foot touched the chilly stone floor. He yawned and nodded at Malcolm as the boy padded over to the bathroom.

When he emerged, rubbing a towel through his hair, Malcolm was happy that at least the dungeons had good plumbing. He preferred a nice hot shower to wake up to. Perren passed him at the doorway, muttering good morning.

Tobey was now sitting up and scratching at his sleep-tousled hair.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Malcolm said, smiling. "It's the first day of classes."

Tobey glared at him and lay back down.

"I got one word for you Rookwood, and that word is 'breakfast'."

There was a loud growling noise coming from the vicinity of Tobey's bed. The boy sat up again. Malcolm chuckled as the stocky boy stumbled toward the bathroom. He wasn't sure how he knew what to say to him, but he supposed with his build he was probably used to eating a hearty breakfast.

_Now why am I in such a good mood?_ He asked himself silently. _Last night I was stewing about what an awful group of prats I have for housemates, now I'm… _His thought cut off. It wasn't all of his housemates that were awful, in fact, he liked all the first years in his house. They'd treated him with respect on the train, though Annalise Dolohov had some serious attitude. He smiled slightly. They also backed him up against the dementor. Dolohov may be a snob, but she had guts as well.

Something bothered him as he dressed. _I suppose I'm glad I ended up in the same house as them, even if the rest of the lot are a bunch of nasty bastards. I still think it's sort of weird though, how we all just sort of clicked. Maybe it's some weird psychological effect from the bombing… of course, I don't even know if they consider me a friend or not. And I am keeping a lot of things from them. I don't really know what the hell I'm doing, do I?_

He was frowning as Perren got dressed and went back to working on his letter. "Alright, Mal?" the boy asked, looking up from his task and tapping his quill against the parchment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wondering about today."

"Me too," the boy replied, looking down at his letter.

"I'm starting to wonder if I got lost and ended up in the **_girls_** dormitory," Tobey growled as he emerged from the bathroom, hands balled up into fists. "Bloody hell, it's like sissy central in here. You think any of those ponces handled a dementor? Not bloody likely. You heard them talk about it, Hawkshorn. Sounded like they were going to cry and wet themselves, you ask me. None of _them_ were able to get pissed at it, or make it bloody back off. Hell, I heard a rumor that Harry Potter even passed out. I don't know if that's true, but you got nothing to fear from those cowards."

Malcolm was taken aback by Tobey's vehemence. "I suppose it sounds a bit silly, when you put it like that. Are you always this grumpy first thing in the morning?"

Tobey blinked and relaxed his hands. "Before I've had some tea, yeah." Perren snorted.

"Yeah, well I'm starving to. Let's see if the girls are up."

Perren colored a bit, but nodded and collected his parchment. As soon as Tobey dressed, they all grabbed their bags and headed for the common room.

Patricia and Annalise were already sitting on the couch nearest the door. "I wondered what was keeping you," the tall girl said as she stood up. She seemed as calm and collected as normal, but Annalise looked groggy, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

As they made their way through the stone passageways, Malcolm caught Patricia's eye. They both slowed their pace as they went up the stairs.

"She had a bad night and didn't get much sleep. I think she was having nightmares, but she put a silence charm around her bed," she whispered.

Malcolm blinked. "How did you know I was going to ask about her?" he whispered back.

Patricia just smiled and shook her head.

Without thinking about it, they sat on the end of the Slytherin table farthest from the teachers in the same configuration as last night. Annalise shot him a look as Malcolm sat down next to her, but she didn't say anything.

They were still a little early, so Perren worked on his letter as the rest of the student body wandered in. Malcolm noticed he was using what looked like a muggle sketchbook to support the parchment as he wrote. The rest of them talked quietly about their first classes. All they first year students in a given house had the same schedule,

"Charms first, then transfiguration after lunch, both double-length classes," Patricia read from her schedule.

"Ugh," Tobey groaned. "McGonagall is transfiguration, right? She looks like a right pain."

"Keep your voice down," Trish hissed, glancing up at the head table.

Tobey shrugged, then rested his jaw on his hands and yawned. Perren, sitting between them, seemed totally absorbed in his task.

Malcolm rubbed at his eyes as more students filtered in. If he ate quickly enough, he'd have enough time to visit Hagrid's hut before charms. The puppy was getting visibly stronger every time he visited, but he wanted to make sure it didn't go too long between feedings. His thoughts broke off as he realized someone was standing behind him.

Draco Malfoy, along with the two bookends from the train, was standing there, holding a folded parchment in his hand. "There you are, Dolohov. Annalise, is it?"

Annalise may be tired, Malcolm wondered, but she showed no sign as she coldly looked back over her shoulder.

Draco smiled as her ice blue eyes bored through him. "My father," he said, emphasizing the last word, "owled me that you would be joining us this year." He smiled a trifle maliciously. "I had no idea, and so you were forced to congregate with the rabble." He smiled coldly at the rest of the first years. Malcolm wondered if he was he trying to pass that off as playful humor. After no one smiled back, Draco sighed theatrically and smiled down at the girl, "Get up, you'll sit with my friends."

Malcolm couldn't think of a speech better honed to infuriate the blond girl.

Annalise glared at Malfoy, giving the impression she was looking down at him, even though he was standing. "I believe I'll sit where I am, Malfoy," she spat, saying the last word with some distaste. "I understand that my Uncle Ivar was considering an alliance with your house, but after sampling your manners I imagine he'll kill you five minutes after meeting you." She tuned her back sharply and began speaking with Patricia about what she expected for their charms class.

Malcolm suppressed a laugh at the gobsmacked look on the upperclassman's face. He very carefully turned his back on the third-year student and glared at Perren and Tobey. After a moment, they all looked down and joined the charms discussion. Malcolm felt the skin on the back of his next crawl as Mount Draco decided whether or not to erupt. Finally, it seemed that his desire to not totally alienate Annalise overcame his rage. With a muttered obscenity he turned and stalked back to his seat. Some of the older students were glaring down at them, but he did notice a mean-looking girl sitting next to Draco smiling maliciously.

Malcolm let his shoulders drop as the conversation farther up the table resumed. After a few minutes Draco was telling some improbable story about how he'd threatened to hex a dementor if it didn't get out of his face, at which Tobey scowled. Tobey opened his mouth to say something, but Perren elbowed him without ever looking up from his letter.

"Remind me Dolohov," Malcolm murmured, "never to piss you off."

Annalise shot him a glare, but frowned in confusion after a moment.

"I'm not making fun of you, you know. I… we, were just admiring how you put that prat in his place."

She blinked and her eyes softened for just an instant before she looked away. Malcolm frowned and looked at Patricia. She seemed just as confused.

The noise from their right got louder. Draco was telling another story about the dementors, and something about 'Potter'. He flopped back in his seat, leaning against that smiling girl like he'd passed out or something. Right then a group of students in Gryffindor robes walked by and the silence was palpable. It was broken when the girl under Draco called out "Hey Potter! Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooo!"

Perren looked up from his letter, his face going a bit green. Tobey looked a little embarrassed, but Patricia seemed completely mortified.

Malcolm took a deep breath and blew it out as the immature pureblood continued mugging for his friends. "Well, I can see why we got sorted here now."

"What do you mean?" Perren asked, frowning.

"To bring up the average intelligence. These people are complete idiots." He said this loud enough that a couple of second year students glanced their way. There were only a couple of places separating them from the rest of the Slytherins.

Patricia gave a small laugh and blushed, but the rest of the first years just stared at him. "Look, I've read enough wizarding history to cover the period since my family went overseas. Those berks are openly mocking the bloke who offed the last Dark Lord when he was still wearing nappies. How powerful do you have to be to rebound the Killing Curse? Pretty damned powerful since no one else has ever done it before. Does that sound like someone you want to enrage?"

"It's not like he can do anything to them," Tobey objected. "The headmaster wouldn't let him."

Malcolm shrugged. "What if they taunt him enough that he loses it and does some accidental magic? Yeah, he might get detention, but that's not much consolation if he lost it and made your head explode." He noticed everyone make a face at that. "Besides, what if he goes nuts or just goes dark? I wouldn't want to be on his list if that happens. Even if neither of those things happens, there are plenty of ways to do things without getting caught, if you know what I mean."

Annalise's voice was quiet, and when he turned Malcolm realized she was looking directly at him. "What sort of work did your father do?"

Malcolm smiled ruefully as he considered his reply. He'd already let something slip. "Let's just say he had a long career in government service."

Perren nodded thoughtfully, but Tobey looked almost scared for a moment. They were interrupted when the serving platters flashed and food was suddenly heaped upon them. Malcolm quickly loaded his plate and attacked his food with vigor. Not only did that divert their questions, but he also wanted to finish in time to check on Brimstone.

After gobbling down his eggs and bacon and two stacks of hot buttered toast, he hefted his bag onto his shoulder and told the others he'd left something at Hagrid's hut and he'd see them at charms.

He passed Professor Hagrid at the entrance. The huge man was wearing a moleskin overcoat that bulged with odd pockets and swung a dead polecat from one hand.

"Lil' feller's already up and waitin' fer ya," he said quietly. "I been getting th' hippogriffs ready for my firs' class!"

Malcolm smiled at the huge man almost bouncing with joy. "Well, good luck with it. I'll see to Brimstone and then get to my first class."

"Good lad," Hagrid beamed and patted Malcolm on the shoulder, almost knocking him off his feet. "Well, better get tae the staff table!"

Malcolm blinked as the professor strode off. _Why is he taking a dead polecat to breakfast?_ He shrugged and hurried out the main entrance.

Scene Break

Malcolm's boots pounded on the stone corridor as he rounded the last corner to the charms classroom. He let out a sigh as he saw a short figure with white hair and beard unlocking the classroom so the Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years could file in.

Brimstone was noticeably stronger today, and even took a few experimental laps directly from the mug when Malcolm held it up to his mouth. _Pretty soon he'll be able to eat on his own, or at least accept Hagrid feeding him._ He was surprised that he didn't feel relieved. Sneaking around to attend to feedings was going to get stressful, but he was actually starting to like the little fur-ball.

Malcolm shook his head and looked up to find Patricia giving him an amused look. He just shrugged at her as they filed into the classroom. He had to suppress a smile when he saw the tiny professor climb onto a stack of thick books in order to see over his own desk.

The first class was mostly an introduction, but he still found it interesting. Magic didn't make a lot of sense according to the worldview he'd built over the first thirteen years of his life. His first wave of a wand, feeling that surge travel down his arm, changed all that. Now, he was gratified to realize that it still followed internally consistent rules, and once he understood those rules, he was on an even footing with students who'd been around magic all their lives.

Professor Flitwick seemed to prefer the Socratic teaching style – he asked questions to get people thinking and lead them to the proper conclusions. Malcolm, used to personal attention the tutors hired by the embassy (even the awful ones), enjoyed how this made for more active, involved learning. Soon he was raising his hand and answering as many questions as the Ravenclaws. He was glad to see that the professor, although he was their head of house, did not favor his own students. By the end of the lecture, he and Patricia (with a little help from the others) had answered just as many of Flitwick's questions as all the Ravenclaws combined. More importantly, they'd also earned five points for their house by the end of the period.

Malcolm couldn't help smiling as they left the class. He was surprised that with the reading he'd done over the summer, he was able to hold his own against students who'd been around magic all their lives. Of course, he had to keep his pride to himself. As far as everyone else was concerned, he **had** been around magic all his life.

As they headed to lunch, Perren excused himself to go mail his letter. His face was still looking a little pinched as he headed up the stairs toward the owlery. Patricia looked after him frowning. "He hasn't cracked a joke all morning. He's really worried about how his parents will react," she said softly.

Malcolm clasped his hands behind him as he walked- for some reason that seemed to make him think better. "Well, if they are really concerned, we could offer to meet them. If they see we aren't a bunch of, er, you know."

Tobey grumbled at that. "Just leave my name out of it," he said in a low voice.

Patricia frowned at him, but Malcolm just sighed. "Is there some reason you don't want to help him?" he asked.

Tobey held his reply until after a quartet of Hufflepuffs passed by them going in opposite direction. "Let's just say my family doesn't have the most savory reputation," he said and started walking faster.

Malcolm sent a quelling gaze toward Patricia, but she didn't seem inclined to ask for details. He'd see if Tobey wanted to talk about it later when they were in their dormitory.

Soon they were settled at the Slytherin table and Perren joined them a moment later.

Lunch was just as hearty as breakfast. As Malcolm dug in, he remembered reading in one of his textbooks that working difficult magic drained the body just like hard physical labor. The emphasis on that sidebar was to urge the student to make sure they ate correctly, but Malcolm could see the point. At least it meant that Hogwarts' Great Hall had better food than any embassy cafeteria or commissary he'd ever visited.

Patricia was already talking about the reading assignment they had for Professor Flitwick's next class. Her suggestion that they all get together after dinner to go over the chapter was not well received.

"Trish, it's the first day of classes! Can we hold off a little on the revision until we actually have some homework?" Perren said, rolling his eyes. With his letter sent, he didn't seem to be as preoccupied. Tobey just nodded, his mouth full of Shepherd's pie. Patricia turned to Malcolm and made a silent appeal.

"I dunno, mates," Malcolm said in a speculative tone. "I sort of enjoyed watching those Ravenclaws eating their livers. They're supposed to be the smartest, and they didn't us showing them up. If we keep earning house points like we did this morning, it should keep Pucey off our backs as well." He hooked at thumb at the entry hall with its gem-filled hourglasses that tracked each house's points. The boys looked torn, but competitive spirit and a desire to annoy the Ravenclaws won out in the end.

"Would you like to join us?" Patricia asked Annalise as she watched the boys wrangling with scornful amusement.

"Of course," she said in a haughty tone. "Unlike _some_ people, I'm not here to waste my time." Perren and Tobey scowled at this, but didn't reply. Malcolm swallowed to keep from snickering.

After lunch, they trooped up to their transfiguration class, taught by Professor McGonagall. She was very strict, and Malcolm couldn't recall ever seeing her smile during his apprenticeship with Hagrid over the summer. He wanted to make sure they were all early. Some of the second years had warned them that since she was the Gryffindor head of house, she'd look for any excuse to deduct house points. Malcolm didn't see why that would make her go gunning for them, other than the obvious antipathy between some of the students in each house.

She arrived precisely on time, looking over the Slytherin students. She counted and gave a slight nod of approval. This turned to a glare of annoyance as one of the Hufflepuffs just arrived, stammering apologies. She didn't say a word however, just opened the door and swept into the classroom. When they were all seated, she gave them a lecture about how Transfiguration was a complex and dangerous branch of magic, and how she would not stand for any messing about in her classroom. She punctuated this by transforming an unoccupied desk into a zebra, then changing it back.

The next seventy-five minutes were occupied by taking increasingly complex notes on wand movements and magical formulas. Finally, at the end of the class, McGonagall gave everyone a match and instructions on how to change it into a needle. Everyone set to work with much waving of arms and mispronunciation of incantations.

By the end of the class, Annalise actually managed to change her match, though it was still a bit thick around the middle. Patricia turned hers silver and got one end down to a point. Tobey and Perren got their matches to at least assume a silvery hue. Malcolm, however, didn't manage to accomplish a thing. Professor McGonagall, after an approving nod at Annalise's work, watched Malcolm carefully duplicate the wand motion as he repeated the words in a clear voice. He felt his stomach drop as the wand just laid there in his hand like a dead twig. He tried just waving his wand, but no sparks came out, though a few motes dribbled from the end.

"Mr. Smith," she said over his shoulder in a clipped voice, making him jump a little, "it's important to focus your mind on what you want to accomplish. That is even more important than words or motions. Now try again, and this time really focus your mind on the needle."

Malcolm took a deep breath, but the tight feeling in his chest would not go away. He closed his eyes for a moment to visualize the needle, then repeated the spell. The sinking sensation in his stomach was worse this time. Not only didn't his wand seem to respond, but the heavy leaden feeling was creeping through his arms and legs as well. He blew out a frustrated breath and turned to look at the professor.

McGonagall was frowning as well, but when she opened her mouth, her words were just off by the bell. She shook her head as the students shoved their books into their bags and started to leave the classroom. "Keep working at it, Mr. Smith, and it should come to you eventually," she finally said. Malcolm nodded and left to follow the other Slytherins.

Since there were still a couple of hours before dinner, they went back to their common room to do their reading for charms. Malcolm's stomach was still roiling, but it calmed down after a while. It disturbed him that the first time he tried to do magic in a lesson he'd been an abject failure. None of the other's said anything, but he still felt a little embarrassed. At least she hadn't deducted house points.

That thought made him jerk his head up from his charms reading. "You know," he said in a low voice, "she wasn't nearly as bad as she was made out to be."

Patricia nodded agreement while Tobey and Perren exchanged a look. "Do you think they were having us on?" Perren asked.

"Maybe," Malcolm replied. "Or they were messing about in her class. I don't imagine she would take too kindly to that, but if we aren't being pillocks I don't think she'll have it in for us."

"I don't think," Annalise said speculatively, eyes narrowed, "that this big 'Slytherin versus Gryffindor' rivalry is as universal as some people want us to think."

"You're spot on," Perren agreed. "We know from breakfast that Malfoy and his lot have it in for Potter."

"Do you think they're recruiting?" Tobey asked, casting a glance toward the fireplace. Malfoy wasn't there, but his sycophants were all clustered around one of the tables whispering.

"I imagine they'd like the whole house united with them in their vendetta against certain parties," Malcolm said carefully, casually stretching and checking for eavesdroppers as he twisted in his armchair. "Personally, I think we'd do better to make our own decisions about people."

Patricia nodded, looking a little relieved. "I'd rather not be more of a pariah than absolutely necessary."

Tobey shook his head. "There are plenty of people who won't like us just because we're in this house." He nodded at Perren who let out a sigh.

"True," Malcolm agreed, "but not everyone will be that way. I'm just saying we need to be careful not to alienate people who might have been willing to give us a chance, alright?"

"Now you are speaking more like a Slytherin," Annalise said, raising an eyebrow. When they all looked at her, she shrugged. "Several members of my family attended Hogwarts. All of them were sorted into this house, so I am somewhat familiar."

"Then I'll take that as a compliment," Malcolm said, making her scowl back at him. He looked up at the ornate clock that hung on one wall. "I need to go see Hagrid again. I'll meet you in the Great Hall for dinner, alright?"

"Are you still on detention with that git?" Tobey groused.

"Nah," Malcolm reassured his friend. He was feeling worse and worse about the deception. "He has me helping him with something. I don't mind; just don't let the others get wind that I actually get along with him." He noticed them all staring at him now and his face colored. "I'll let you all about it after dinner." He dropped his voice and added, "There are a lot of ears in here right now."

Scene Break

Malcolm made his way out to Hagrid's hut while the summer sun was still fairly high in the sky. When he knocked on the door, however, no one answered. He knocked again, harder, and called out "Professor Hagrid?"

He was about to go looking around the paddock when he heard movement inside the hut. He was about to knock again when the door opened.

Hagrid stood in the doorway, holding Brimstone's crate in his hands. The large man sighed and the alcoholic fumes made Malcolm's eyes water. "Well, I'm probly gon ter set a record for quickest sacking of a Hogwarts professor," he said sadly.

"Why," Malcolm asked, "what happened?"

"One of th' students got hurt during my first class. Summat happened with Buckbeak, an' he laid open young Malfoy's arm. Took 'im to the infirmary and Madam Pomfrey fixed 'im as best she could, but he's still hurtin' pretty bad. Whole arm is wrapped up in bandages…"

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Malcolm said firmly. "If he got on Buckbeak's nerves half as much as he got on mine, you'd have had to bring him to the infirmary in a bucket."

Hagrid shook his head sadly. "Don't matter none. School governor's been told already I imagine." He sighed, making Malcolm's eyes water again. "Just a matter of time…" his voice trailed off sadly.

The puppy stuck its head out of the crate and made a peculiar mewling sound when it saw Malcolm. Hagrid snapped out of his reverie and looked down.

"Anyway," Hagrid continued, "I'm not going ter be able to take care of lil' Brimmy any longer if I get sacked. I want you ter take him. 'e won't take food from anyone else. I talked ter Professor Dumbledore and 'e said you could keep it in yer dormitory like a reg'lar pet. Technically speaking, it is a magical pet after all… just a lil' different. Anyway, I put th' mug in there, along with a bottle of sulphur. Th' house elves will keep refilling th' mug as long as y' leave it out for them tae see."

He handed the crate to Malcolm, whose mouth was still hanging open. "Hagrid, I can't take— this is—"

"I told ya, I already talked ter Professor Dumbledore. 'e understands about lil' Brimmy, he does. Just take care of the poor little thing." Hagrid sniffed loudly and Malcolm took a step backward. He'd been about to say '_I don't have anywhere to keep him over the summer,'_ but he didn't want to add to the man's worries. Whatever happened earlier that afternoon had really put a scare into him. If it wasn't as bad as Hagrid thought, he could always bring Brimstone back to him. In the end, he kept his arms wrapped around the crate and just nodded.

"Good man," Hagrid murmured. "In about two weeks, you'll want tae get a fire-proofing charm placed on th' bedding, just in case. Shouldn't be much problem though, firehounds are really clever. Little guy 'is almost toilet trained already."

Malcolm sighed and hoped his dorm-mates were understanding. "Don't worry about Brimstone; I'll take good care of him."

"Alrigh', ye'd better get inside before it gets dark and give him 'is evening feeding. I'm going tae get ter organizing things… for you-know." Hagrid frowned as he slid the door shut.

Malcolm scratched Brimstone behind his ears and then re-tucked the bedding. He shifted the crate around and held it under one arm as he marched back to the dormitory. He didn't look around, he didn't act nervous. If worst came to worse, Hagrid did say that the headmaster had approved this. Malcolm simply moved with purpose and no one stopped to ask him what he was carrying.

He sat down on his bed about half an hour before dinner. Perren and Tobey followed him from the common room, and he smiled at them as he pulled back the rough blanket that covered the top of the crate. "This is what I've been working on with Professor Hagrid."

They both crowded around on the bed to get a better look at the puppy. When Malcolm scratched its head and it opened its eyes, they both flinched back from the green glow. Malcolm noticed that Brimstone was actually radiating heat like his mother.

"Blimey," Tobery whispered, "that's a hellhound, isn't it?"

"The proper term is firehound, according to Hagrid, but yeah, he is," Malcolm replied.

"He _gave _him to you?" Perren asked.

"Well, I was there helping when he was born… it was pretty bad. The mother and the rest of the litter didn't make it. Little guy just barely made it and it thinks _I'm_ it's mum, and it won't let anyone else feed it… so he told me to take care of it." Malcolm frowned. "Sodding Malfoy did something in Hagrid's class today and got hurt. Now Hagrid thinks he's going to get fired, and he wants to make sure Brimstone gets taken care of."

"That. Is. So. Brilliant!" Perren said, with the largest smile Malcolm had seen from him since the sorting ceremony. "I mean," he added, "not the part about Professor Hagrid getting sacked. I brought an owl, and Tobey did too, but I've never even seen a hellhound before!"

"I saw one a long time ago, at one of my uncle's parties," Tobey said slowly. "But it was a huge, foul-tempered thing. Really old too. I never thought of one looking… well, cute before."

Malcolm dug the chipped mug and the bottle of powdered sulfur out of the bedding. He set each on his nightstand and re-settled the bedding to make sure his charge was warm and well-insulated. "He said the house elves would know to fill the mug with his formula. Do you think they'll swing by here while were eating dinner?"

Perren shrugged but Tobey nodded. "Yeah, while we're eating they won't have anything to do, so they'll check the rooms looking for work." He shook his head in amusement, adding "House-elves aren't happy unless they have something to do for someone."

Malcolm nodded as they stood up to head off to dinner. His stomach relaxed a little and his appetite started to come back. Far from objecting to Brimstone's presence, his friends were more than happy to have him there. He owed them one.

Malfoy wasn't at dinner, though his mean-looking girlfriend, who Patricia identified as Pansy Parkinson, arrived late stating that she'd just come from the infirmary. After that, most of the third year students huddled together, conversing in low tones. Malcolm wished he could hear their conversation.

As they ate, Perren and Tobey kept looking at him and grinning. Finally, Patricia let out an exasperated sigh. "What is it with you two?" she asked.

"Mal's got a surprise," Perren answered in a quiet sing-song. "He can show you after dinner."

"Perren!" Malcolm hissed. He didn't want to take Brimstone out into the common room just yet.

Perren looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"I'd rather the whole house didn't know."

He shrugged. "Well, they can come back to our room and see."

Malcolm choked a little on his pumpkin juice. "Won't the alarms go off once they set foot in the corridor?" he asked.

Tobey grinned. "The girls' dormitory is trapped, but not ours. I guess they wanted to protect the ladies' virtue, but figured that anyone who walked into the boy's dormitories was fair game."

"Tobias Rookwood, watch your language!" Patricia snapped.

The stocky boy flushed at her use of his hated first name. "Was just a joke," he muttered.

Annalise was glaring at him as well. "It was very crude, though not surprising given your parentage…" she said, her voice trailing off softly.

Tobey's face went pale as milk. "Not that you have any room to talk," he snapped.

Malcolm glanced at Patricia, raising his eyebrows, but she was looking down at her plate. Tobey and Annalise continued glaring at each other through the meal.

"Alright," Malcolm said as they stood up from the table. "We're going back to our dormitory and going over the charms reading… among other things," he announced firmly.

Everyone was quiet as they filed into the dormitory. Malcolm noticed some of the older students glancing at them curiously, but no one stopped them.

As he hoped, the house-elves had filled Hagrid's mug with the warm milk-and-lamp-oil mixture for Brimstone. Uncovering the sleepy puppy and feeding him also provided a welcome distraction. Patricia cooed over Brimstone so much that Malcolm had difficulty suppressing a grin. Even Annalise reached out and stroked the soft black fur on its ear as it licked formula from Malcolm's finger.

After the puppy fell into a sated stupor, Malcolm cleared his throat. "Now, you want to explain what that was all about at dinner?"

Neither Tobey nor Annalise would answer. Perren looked at Patricia and she sighed. "Malcolm," she said quietly, "You were probably out of the country when all of this happened, but many of You-Know-Who's followers were sent to Azkaban after he was defeated. Each of their, uh, fathers, was imprisoned."

Malcolm figured if he could dice up the silence that descended, he could sell it for building materials. "How long ago was this?" he finally asked.

"Most of the trials were right after You-Know-Who disappeared," Perren replied.

"So this was, what, ten, eleven years ago?"

He nodded.

"Okay," Malcolm said after thinking a moment. "Look you two," he said peering at Tobey and Annalise, "I'm sorry it happened. But, I don't think it's really relevant to who you are today. Do either of you even remember them?"

After a long moment, Tobey shook his head. Annalise didn't answer, but that alone was enough of a reply for Malcolm.

"Alright then," he said after a moment. "We'll consider it a non-issue, and we'll all agree not to bring it up again." He looked around and Patricia and Perren were both nodding vigorously. "Good enough," he concluded, even though the others hadn't formally conceded. "Trish, where were we in that chapter?"

As they pulled out their books and opened them, some of the tension in the air began to evaporate.

A/N:

Hello, it's been a few days, but this is the longest chapter to date. Would you all prefer shorter chapters and more frequent updates? Or longer between updates but larger chapters?

If these characters seem to act somewhat mature for their age, it's intentional. Purebloods are raised in an almost Medieval culture where the age of majority is 17, and marriages at that age are not looked at too questioningly.

Also keep in mind that many students finish their education at the end of their fifth year when they take their OWLs.

Finally, children in the wizarding world are raised in a culture where they are basically given a loaded gun at age eleven, when they receive their first wand.

To me, all these factors indicate that children in the wizarding world are expected to grow up far faster than their muggle counterparts.

Anyway, let me know if you agree/disagree or have other questions. All feedback is appreciated, so let me know what you think so far!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 13

The following day, Malcolm and his friends were studying before lunch when Draco Malfoy returned. He was surrounded by the other third-year students, basking in the limelight. His arm was swathed in bandages, and he was given a hero's welcome by the older students. Pansy Parkinson was hanging onto his good arm like some sort of growth, and his thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled as their leader bragged about how his father would see that Hagrid lost his job. The older students cheered when they heard this.

Malcolm fought back a strong urge to vomit. Instead, he tried to look like he was frowning at his transfiguration notes. The rest of the firsties were quiet as they sat around 'their' couch near the door and did their homework. Malcolm, however, watched Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

He jumped a little when Adrian Pucey, the Slytherin prefect, leaned over his chair and spoke. "McGonagall's already got you slaving, eh? Well, good job not giving that old bat an excuse to take points. You lot are doing a better job than most first year classes. Maybe because there are fewer of you to mess up."

"We just like showing those stuck up Ravenclaws that they don't know ruddy everything," Tobey groused.

Pucey chuckled at that. "I heard you got points over them from Flitwick." He shook his head, apparently amused at the diminutive professor's foolish even-handedness. "Anyway, you'll have a chance to make more in potions. Snape doesn't forget whose house you're in. Good luck with McGonagall though. Pity Draco can't get rid of that old bat as well." He smiled at them and headed toward the fireplace.

Malcolm waited until the prefect was definitely out of earshot before speaking. "I'm starting to hate that git."

"Way ahead of you there, mate," Perren drawled. Tobey just made a rude sound.

Malcolm just shook his head and repositioned his transfiguration notes so he could watch Malfoy. The blond Slytherin was drinking what looked like a mug of butterbeer as he spoke to one of the sixth-year students. Malcolm blinked after a moment and smiled. "Gotcha," he whispered.

"What's that?" Patricia asked, looking up from her work.

"What's Malfoy doing?" Malcolm asked quietly. After a moment, everyone looked up.

"He's drinking a butterbeer?" Perren asked.

"Yes, out of a nice heavy glass mug. And which hand is he using?"

"His right- oh blimey," Perren said in a sick voice.

"Yeah, his 'horribly wounded arm' that's all bandaged up – you'd think he'd use his left hand if it was hurting so much, wouldn't you?" Malcolm said in a disgusted voice.

"You mean, he's faking how bad it is?" Patricia sounded dismayed at her house member's conduct.

"Of course he is," Annalise said, not even looking up from her schoolwork. "He can play this up and his father will push to get the half-breed he dislikes removed from the school. I imagine he is also taking advantage of this to get special treatment in his classes as well." Her classmates all stared at her for a moment, not saying a word, before she finally looked up from her notes. "What? Would you expect someone like _him_ to _not_ take advantage of the situation?" She shook her head in disgust at their naiveté.

Malcolm watched the Slytherin golden boy as he eventually disengaged himself from his admirers and sauntered back to the dormitory. "Lying ponce also opened the door with his supposedly wounded hand," he said under his breath.

"Can't believe he got away with that," Perren said.

"Bloody hell he's getting away with it," Malcolm growled.

"What are you going to do?" Patricia asked in a worried voice.

"I'm just going to report his sorry arse," Malcolm replied.

Perren and Tobey's eyes both bulged at this. "Mal, you can't do that," Perren said in an anguished whisper, "he's in your _house_."

"I'm not letting him get away with it," Malcolm shot back, fumbling for words, "it's just – not right."

Tobey laughed harshly at that. "I don't know what that hat was thinking, Malcolm. Doing something just because it's _right_ isn't very Slytherin, is it now?"

Malcolm took a deep breath and bit back his first two replies. _I want to be very careful how I say this, _he though to himself. "I didn't hear the hat say anything about Slytherin being _wrong_. Clever, yes. Nothing wrong with that. Ambitious, yes. It's good to set goals and work to achieve them. Dishonest? You'll never get anything done if no one can trust your word. Treacherous? That always comes back to bite you in the end. Just because our house has people like… _him_… in it, doesn't mean we have to act like that bloody bastard."

Malcolm was speaking intensely, but he kept his voice down to a whisper. He'd been thinking about this since the night of the Welcoming Feast, and it just came boiling out of him now. When he was done, his friends were all just staring at him. Even Annalise was gaping at him, eyebrows lifted and mouth hanging just the tiniest bit open.

Scene Break

Malcolm waited until well after curfew to leave his bed. This was an errand that needed no witnesses. He'd thought long and hard on what he was about to do. Professor Snape was his head of house, and the logical person he should be talking to. On the other hand, something was definitely rotten in the state of Slytherin. It didn't seem to Malcolm that things could have gotten as bad as it seemed to be without the man encouraging it, let alone allowing it.

On the other hand, he didn't feel exactly comfortable going straight to the headmaster with this either. It wasn't just the question of whether he would be believed, though he did remember that Dumbledore hadn't initially believed him about the fight at the placement center.

In the end, he knew Nigel would be disappointed to see him completely ignore the chain of command. So, five minutes before curfew, he slipped out of the common room and made his way over to Professor Snape's quarters.

There was a long silence after he knocked on the door. Malcolm was about to turn and head back for the common room when the door opened and his sallow-complexioned head of house glared down at him.

"Mr. Smith. I trust there is a good explanation for your presence at this hour?"

Malcolm swallowed. It didn't sound like he was in a good mood. "I noticed something I thought you should be made aware of, sir."

"What is it?" the hook-nosed professor snapped.

Malcolm looked left and right. It didn't sound like he was going to be invited in to speak privately. At least there didn't seem to be anyone in the corridor. "Draco Malfoy is faking his injury, sir."

Black eyes glittered dangerously. "Mister Mallfoy spent several hours in the infirmary being treated for an extremely large gash on his forearm, inflicted by the talons of an enraged hippogriff. In what manner do you accuse a highly regarded student your own house of 'faking' such an injury?" The man's voice practically dripped with venom, and Malcolm knew he'd made a terrible mistake coming here. _Maybe I can wriggle out of this, _he thought as his mind raced.

"Draco is acting like his arm is in horrible pain and he can hardly use it. Yet, when he's not careful he still uses that hand to lift things and open doors. Someone is likely to pick up on that if he isn't careful. I am aware of the efforts being made to have something done about Professor Hagrid, and others will look for a way to undermine the case," Malcolm said coolly. "If he gets caught, it will not reflect well on himself or the rest of us."

Snape blinked, glaring down at Malcolm for a long moment. The boy felt his skin tingle as the teacher's eyes bored down into his. He kept his face impassive while his stomach twisted. "And why," the professor grated, eyebrows furrowing in a grimace of annoyance and frustration, "are you bringing this to me?"

Malcolm cleared his throat. "My assessment of Mr. Malfoy is that he would not appreciate any lack of subtlety on his part being pointed out by a first year student. You, however, as his head of house…" he let his voice trail off suggestively.

The professor nodded slightly. "I will speak with him in the morning. Return to your common room before Mr. Filch finds you violating curfew." With that, he closed the door.

Malcolm's hands shook as he made his way back to the Slytherin common room. That had been close, but he felt reasonably confident that Snape had bought his reasoning. At least now he knew that the Potions Master was untrustworthy. _Tobey did say that Malfoy's father was on the school's Board of Governors. I guess my head of house knows which side his bread is buttered on, _he thought bitterly.

The common room was emptying out, and Malcolm managed to slip into his dormitory without further incident. He sat down on his bed and sighed. Tobey and Perren looked at him expectantly.

Malcolm squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Perren, can I borrow your owl? I need to send a message after breakfast."

Scene Break

Albus Dumbledore unfolded the parchment that the owl brought him.

_Headmaster,_

_I am aware of the incident that occurred at the first Care of Magical Creatures class this term. I have also noticed that Draco Malfoy appears to have full use of his left hand, and can lift things and open doors using it without hesitation or pain. _

_Attempts to share this information through proper channels were less than successful. I trust you will investigate this situation and act accordingly._

_-Your friend from the placement center_

The old man's eyebrows lifted. He suspected that young Malfoy had exaggerated the extent of his injuries, but proof had been lacking. What was more surprising was the source of this information. While young mister Smith's honesty and loyalty to Hagrid was appreciated, it would undoubtedly cause him difficulties in his house. On the other hand, he was surprisingly discrete for someone of his age. He relayed the information by owl, rather than being seen talking to the headmaster in person, and the details in the note were written in such a way that, even if it were intercepted, no one besides the recipient would know who had sent it.

The headmaster smiled as he thought about this. Maybe the boy had been properly sorted after all.

A/N:

No one has expressed a preference for short/faster chapters versus larger/slower ones, so I'll post when it feels like a good stopping point.

Responses to some questions:

It should be clear by now which house they are in… and that will be a major plot issue for some of them.

There will be some interaction with the Major Canon characters, but as I am trying to keep this as canon as possible, a lot of it will be 'off-screen' to Harry's POV. (Major interactions would have been in the books, right?)

Malcolm and the other Slytherin first years students are all OCs. As far as I can find, no Slytherin students from this year are mentioned in any of the books. More details on Malcolm's background will be introduced as the story progresses… though some of you will be able to make some guesses based on the way he does things.

(And no, there is no relationship between any characters in this story and "There's Always A Way".)

Thanks for the kind words!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 14

Malcolm was on pins and needles for the week following his conversation with Professor Snape. At breakfast the following day, he noticed that Draco was being very careful not to use his left hand for anything, even having Pansy help him cut his food. There were no immediate reprisals against him, so it appeared that the professor believed his story.

On the down side, it wasn't clear if Dumbledore had even received the message he'd sent with Perren's owl. Hagrid reappeared at the staff table, much to Malfoy's vocal disgust, but he was very subdued and wouldn't meet Malcolm's eye. He maneuvered to walk past the professor in the halls a couple of times, but the gigantic man didn't seem interested in talking. Malcolm considered owling him a note, but since the man never got mail at breakfast it would raise too many suspicions. In the end, he decided to let Hagrid let him know if he wanted to talk or ask about Brimstone. Malcolm couldn't really blame him if he wanted to steer clear of Slytherins after what had happened.

Of greater worry to Malcolm were his classes. He took detailed notes, studied hard, and did well on the theoretical portions. However, when it came time to work on practical applications, he was absolute rubbish with a wand. Maybe one time in ten could he get a spell to work properly. Each time it worked, that little taste of success was immediately replaced by bitter failure as his next attempt invariably failed. His professors coached him constantly on wand motions, pronunciation, and visualizations. Nothing seemed to help.

His friends were very careful not to say anything, but Malcolm found himself growing increasingly frustrated with his failures. His written scores help keep his grades up, but if it weren't for that occasional flash of competence, he might as well have been a squib like his father.

At least in potions he didn't have to worry. Success there was determined by the ability to concentrate and follow directions. Seeing how the magical properties associated with each ingredient combined to produce a specific effect was also intriguing – rather like solving a complicated puzzle. On the other hand, the house bias he was warned to watch out for with McGonagall was more than evident in Professor Snape's behavior. It was a little embarrassing to see how obvious he was about it. The man ridiculed the Gryffindor students they shared the class with, and extravagantly praised anything Malcolm or his friends accomplished.

Malcolm recalled his late night conversation with his head of house a little too clearly to ever take what he said at face value. Tobey also distrusted the man, thinking his words were spoken sarcastically. At first, Perren and Patricia enjoyed the encouragement, but after a while it started to make them uncomfortable as well. Of them all, Annalise was the only one who ignored the man, going about her tasks with a regal lack of acknowledgement of his words. Despite their reactions, the Gryffindors were soon glaring at them, obviously blaming them for playing some role in Snape's behavior.

Feeding Brimstone and teaching him a few simple games was a welcome distraction from his frustrations. The puppy was soon walking, and fortunately proved to be easy to train. Perren nicked a dented old bedpan from the infirmary and Patricia placed a scentless charm on it after it was placed in the back corner of their dormitory room. Eventually, the hellhound grew less skittish with Malcolm's friends and would submit to the occasional petting. It still, however, demanded Malcolm's lap any time he sat on his bed to read.

Perren was another distraction. The normally friendly and outgoing boy made an effort to lighten any conversation. However, he was also regularly receiving owls from his parents. He never talked about what was in the letters, but he would grow very quiet after reading each one. Within a day he would be back to normal, but each time it would be worse. Malcolm saw him write back to them the first few times, but it appeared that he'd stopped doing even that after a while. He noticed with some amusement that Patricia, who normally nagged him constantly about his study habits and 'frivolous ways', got very quiet on those topics when he received a letter from home.

Malcolm finally got some answers to his own questions after a charms class a few days before Halloween. He'd spent the better part of two hours trying to levitate a bloody feather, and no matter how he tried to vary his pronunciation of _Wingardium Leviosa, _the ruddy thing sat on his desk like it'd been glued on. By the end of the class he was ready to pound his head against the desk in frustration and Professor Flitwick asked him to stay after class. The pitying looks from his friends were bad enough – he at least knew they meant well. The smirks from the departing Ravenclaws, however, were intolerable.

He ground his teeth and tried to master his anger as the last of the students filed out. He put his books in his bag, but left it on his desk as he walked to the front of the classroom. The diminutive professor had an uncharacteristically grave expression on his face.

"Malcolm," he began. Professor Flitwick tended to use his first name when speaking personally, unlike most of the faculty. "I've noticed the, uh, difficulties you've been having in class lately."

"I know, professor, but I just don't understand it. I'm doing everything like it says in the book. As far as I can tell my concentration _isn't_ lapsing, but it just doesn't work."

"I know. I don't think you are necessarily doing anything wrong, either," the small man said, slumping atop the stack of thick books piled in his chair.

Malcolm blinked. "So am I really a squib then?"

"No, my dear boy," Flitwick sighed,"I think it may be more complicated than that. Would you be willing to accompany me to the infirmary so we can conduct some tests?"

That sounded pretty ominous to Malcolm, but he just nodded and followed the man to see Madam Pomfrey.

Most of the school was at lunch or heading for the Great Hall, so the infirmary was eerily quiet. The nurse raised her eyebrows when Malcolm followed Professor Flitwick through the door. After a whispered consultation, both of them cast a long incantation and kept their wands pointed at him while the charms teacher had him try to levitate a conjured feather. Malcolm thought one end of the feather might have quivered, but it was probably just a trick of the light. He tried several times until he was about to growl in frustration.

Flitwick told him he could stop, but when Malcolm looked up, he noticed that both he and Madam Pomfrey had gone very pale. After a moment she bustled into her office and returned a moment later with a very grave-looking Albus Dumbledore. Malcolm was starting to have a very bad feeling about the whole thing. They had him repeat the exercise with the feather again, though it seemed like such a waste of time.

When Malcolm was done, the headmaster laid his hand on Flitwick's shoulder. "You were right to bring this to our attention, Filius." The old man was silent for a moment before speaking again. "Poppy, would it be possible to use your study for a moment? I need to inform Mr. Smith of a few things."

Malcolm followed Dumbledore into a small office crowded with shelves of potion bottles and anatomy charts.

"Mr. Smith," the Headmaster began, "as you know, magical children who are not born to magical parents still receive a letter from Hogwarts. Usually, their parents are happy to discover the reason for the unusual activities their children inadvertently cause with accidental magic, and consent to send their children here for training in how to channel their powers. If the parents do not agree on their child entering the magical world, they do consent to have… other… steps taken to ensure their child's safety."

"Other steps?" Malcolm asked slowly. The old man was unusually hesitant, and his obvious discomfort was sending chills down Malcolm's spine, collecting in the pit of his stomach.

"A binding is placed on the child's magical core, the intersection between their spirit, or consciousness and magic itself. This binding prevents them from inadvertently hurting someone if they become upset enough to trigger an accidental magic discharge. For those who do not wish to join us, eliminating that possibility is seen as a blessing. However, there are also other reasons to do the binding."

Dumbledore trailed off, looking into the distance. "The strength of the magical core determines how strong a wizard or witch will become. If someone with a strong core does not receive training at the proper time in their life, training that will help them channel that power, there can be grave consequences."

Malcolm felt his hands suddenly become cold and clammy. "Consequences?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yes, Malcolm," Dumbledore said.

Malcolm looked up at the use of his first name, and saw a hint of sadness in those twinkling blue eyes. _This does not sound good at all._

"Over the last couple of years, your magical core has become destabilized. It's possible that the traumatic events that led to your returning to England may have played some role in that. Your ability to form a connection to your core, to access your magic, seems tied to your emotional state, which you may have noticed. When you are relaxed and calm, you may perform magic normally. However, when you become upset or frustrated, your magic fails. Moreover, when your core is destabilized in such a fashion, it seems to absorb magic, rather that releasing it."

"That almost makes sense," Malcolm mused aloud. _Now why is he so upset about that news to actually show it? _he wondered. "Now, what's the bad news?" he asked flatly.

Dumbledore sighed. "When the destabilization has gotten this far, it will continue to get worse until your magical core collapses."

"And then I'll become a muggle?" Malcolm asked in a hollow voice.

"No," said the headmaster slowly, "and then you will die."

A/N:

Enough fluff and set-up – now we get into the major plot complications!

The Unicorn- Malcolm is not comfortable with the favoritism displayed by Snape. At all.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 15

Malcolm wandered back to his dormitory. He vaguely remembered the headmaster excusing him from the rest of his classes for the day. He was still in a daze when he gave the password and stepped into the common room.

He was going to die.

It wasn't a far off certainty, his eventual mortality. This was a little more immediate. He could catastrophically destabilize the next time he sneezed, though in all likelihood he would have a few years before that happened.

But there were no guarantees.

He stumbled into the dormitory, dropped his bag on top of his footlocker and stretched out on the bed. Immediately Brimstone jumped up on the bed and curled up on his stomach. Malcolm felt himself trembling a bit, but the small body resting on his middle radiated warmth through his robes like a hot coal. After a moment, he began stroking the soft fur. His hand shook at first, but the hellhound's soothing warmth crept up his fingers as well.

Soon the puppy was asleep again, and the boy dropped off as well.

Scene Break

Malcolm woke late that afternoon. He felt a flash of guilt before he remembered the headmaster had excused him from the rest of his classes that day, 'to think over his options.' The boy sighed as his familiar shifted sleepily on his stomach.

_It's ironic,_ he mused, _I live through something that should have killed me instantly, only to discover later that I have a terminal illness. Fate has a wicked sense of humor… but not one I'm really in a mood to appreciate. I just wish Nigel hadn't paid such a high price…_

Memories stirred as he drifted off again.

Scene Break

A small boy exited the airplane, trailing behind his father. Neither of them spoke much as the desert air closed around them like a vice. Both were perspiring heavily before they reached the air conditioned coolness of the terminal. After passing through customs, a man in a plain black suit led them to a limousine at the curb. He held the rear door open for his charges, nodding politely to the quiet boy who followed his father into the vehicle.

He was the first person to directly acknowledge Malcolm's presence that day.

Scene Break

His first day in the new embassy, Malcolm was struck by several differences. The first was a list of warnings he was told to heed. As he scanned down the list, he came to several conclusions. The first was that he wasn't going to have much to do. He was basically restricted from leaving the embassy grounds except under very specific conditions. As he worked through the list, the warning about strange packages also rang a few bells. _Are they worried about bombs?_ He wondered.

The final conclusion was not difficult to arrive at. His father had brought him to a fairly dangerous place. The question was why. His father was an intensely private man, but the boy knew he was no thrill-seeker. Mr. Smith, Sr., was methodical and cautious. Both qualities were essential for his true line of work, one Malcolm had been made aware of and cautioned never to discuss. _Why would he agree to being posted here then?_

His mind wandered back to a conversation that took place before they flew to Burkina Faso. Malcolm had asked, a bit wistfully, if it would have been possible to return to England, at least for a while. He wanted to see the land of his parents' birth and perhaps meet some of his relatives. A strange expression crossed his father's face before it returned to its normal reserve and he said that unfortunately it wouldn't be possible.

At the time, he'd been too distracted by his disappointment to care, but now he wondered. Thinking back, it almost looked like an expression of terror. _Whatever hazards exist here must not be half as bad as whatever's waiting for him in England,_ Malcolm realized. _I wonder if it has anything to do with Mum?_ The boy had no memories of his mother, but the thought still made his stomach clench like a fist.

He abandoned that singularly uncomfortable train of thought and instead decided to inspect their new home. The embassy compound appeared to have once been a large estate, with outbuildings surrounded by a substantial masonry wall. Malcolm and his father had rooms on the third floor of the main building. Their accommodations were comfortable, but not large.

The tutor hired to teach the staff-members' children was on vacation during the summer holidays. It had previously been deemed too dangerous for the children to attend a local school, so an older woman had been hired to lecture them.

Bored out of his mind, the boy soon began prowling the embassy buildings and grounds. Normally the quiet type, he'd also recently discovered a talent for moving quietly and staying unnoticed. He didn't understand why most people his age had to always be making noise and drawing attention to themselves. He was far more comfortable just listening and observing. He didn't give anything away for free and often learned things that surprised him.

One thing he learned was that a disproportionate number of embassy employees were young men in their twenties to thirties, all of them very fit. The first time he got up early and watched them all jogging around the inside of the compound wall, he knew for sure they were soldiers of some type. None of them, however, wore any kind of uniform. A couple of them were always outside, walking around. As he watched them scan the wall that girded the compound, he realized that they were some kind of protective detail.

Something about the smooth precision with which they moved appealed to the boy and he began shadowing them as they performed their rounds. They didn't appear to notice him at first, and he was amused by his unexpected proficiency.

He almost leapt out of his skin when a large callused hand fell upon his shoulder.

Scene Break

Malcolm stirred slightly as he heard his dorm-mates moving about. He kept his eyes shut though, not sure what, if anything, he wanted to say to them. If they heard about the messages sent to Professors Binns and McGonagall, then they probably just assumed he was sick.

He lay still, waiting for the sounds to cease. He wasn't quite ready to face his friends yet. After they left for dinner, he sat up, careful not to disturb Brimstone. Looking over at the nightstand, he saw that the house-elves had refilled the mug while he was sleeping.

Once the puppy was fed and asleep again, Malcolm slipped out through the empty common room. He felt too agitated to continue sleeping. He'd had quite a shock that morning, but he didn't feel like hiding from reality anymore.

His footsteps were silent as he made his way up to the tower where he took his astronomy class on Wednesday nights. A light breeze was blowing across the empty parapet, the late October air brisk. Malcolm watched the setting sun light up the Quidditch pitch and thought about endings. He'd been dreaming a lot about the past. _Maybe because I'm not going to have much of a future,_ he thought bitterly.

The boy made a disgusted sound and frowned. _Nigel would kick my arse if he heard me whinging like that. Feeling sorry for myself solves nothing._ He smiled for a moment as he recalled the man who'd taught him so much.

Scene Break

He'd nearly jumped out of his skin when the man surprised him that day. He did spin around awkwardly; cringing back until he recognized the dark-haired man who'd picked them up at the airport. The noise also alerted the two men he'd been observing, who turned, each reaching towards the small of their backs.

The man grabbed Malcolm's arm to steady him. "Easy there, lad. Appears I gave you as bad a start as Watkins and Tibbs over there."

The men Malcolm had crept up on looked at each other a little sheepishly. The one behind him chuckled. "The boy's got a light step, he does. A born sneak I'd say." The smile on his face took any offense out of his words. Malcolm belted out a stammered apology as he tried to make as graceful an exit as possible.

He'd expected some repercussions from the incident, but his father said nothing to him that evening or the next. After that, he cautiously started watching the men again… this time keeping an eye out for additional watchers.

In time, he'd mapped out their movements in his head. As he suspected, their seemingly aimless walks across the ground managed to cover the circumference of the grounds every half hour or so. With the extra attention paid to the main gate and other access points, it was clear to him that they were part of some sort of protective detail working at the embassy. The presence of additional plain-clothes security reinforced Malcolm's impression that this was considered a dangerous posting.

This was reinforced when he saw them react to an intrusion. He'd heard shouts echoing over the compound walls for more than a minute before the disheveled man launched himself at the gate, climbing desperately for the top. A lumpy sack dangled from one hand as he scrambled up the wrought iron. No sooner had he tumbled awkwardly over the top than the two men were on him.

The intruder froze when he felt the barrel of a pistol pushed into the back of his neck. The weapon appeared in Watkins' hand as if by magic. Tibbs took the sack from his slack fingers and peered inside. "Some knick-knacks and jewelry," he said in a low voice.

"Let's get him somewhere quiet," the other one said. "Nigel's going to want to talk to him a bit."

Watkins frog-marched the man back to the main building. The intruder's eyes were wide and he offered no resistance. No sooner was he out of sight than a man in uniform appeared at the gate, demanding something in a loud voice. A few local people, breathing hard, staggered up behind him.

After a few moments of quiet conversation, Tibbs handed the bag back through the grate. The man behind the official grabbed it. When he looked inside, he let out a great sigh of relief and began smiling and nodding at Tibbs.

The official, however, was not happy about something. He spoke again in a demanding tone and Tibbs just shook his head and shrugged. "Don't know where he is now, but he's not here," he said in an apologetic tone.

The official, who appeared to be some sort of policeman, spoke several more times. Each time Tibbs either shook his head or shrugged like he was confused. Malcolm stepped back behind the corner of one of the embassy cars when the dark-haired man walked out towards Tibbs.

The man turned away from gate with some relief and met the man half-way. Malcolm edged around the car until he could hear what was said.

"What's the situation out here?" the dark-haired man asked in a low voice.

"The local police want to run the guy in," Tibbs answered. "Nigel, they're talking about calling in the district inspector to make a formal complaint to the ambassador."

"That's a lot of fuss over a simple burglary," Nigel answered suspiciously.

"They said he robbed the mayor's cousin," Tibbs drawled.

"Still, I'd like to sweat this guy a little more. Make sure there's nothing else going on. It may be just what it looks like – fleeing criminal cuts through the wrong yard."

"Except there are no coincidences, yes, I remember Left- I mean, Nigel," Tibbs replied with a tight grin.

"Great, look over there. He got here bloody quick," Nigel growled.

Malcolm slipped from behind the car and followed the two men to the gate.

A black car had pulled up outside the gate, and a fat man in an expensive-looking suit was walking up to the gate.

"I would like to speak with the ambassador or the senior attaché," he asked in a loud voice. Malcolm could tell he wasn't happy to be called out for this.

"I can get him if you like," Nigel said in an even voice, "but the man isn't here anymore."

The inspector's eyes narrowed as he glanced from Nigel to Tibbs. Looking suddenly past them, they lit up as he saw Malcolm. "You there, boy."

Malcolm swallowed as what felt like everyone in the street turned their attention toward him. "M-me, sir?"

"Yes," he snapped, but his smile indicated some enjoyment of Malcolm's nervousness, "did you see what happened to the man who climbed over this gate?" he asked.

Malcolm tried to ignore Tibbs and Nigel's eyes as they spun toward him. "He's not here sir. When he saw us looking at him, he dropped his bag and ran that way." He pointed to the left along the wall. "When he reached the gardener's hut he climbed onto the roof and jumped from there to the top of the wall. He was very fast, was he an athlete?" he asked guilelessly.

The fat man waved off Malcolm's question and turned to berate the policeman in a language Malcolm was rather glad he didn't understand. He looked back toward Nigel and saw the man staring at him in an appraising manner.

After that, Nigel brought Malcolm to his father's office (he was officially an economics advisor to the ambassador) to discuss the incident. When his father asked him why he'd lied to the police inspector, Malcolm admitted that he'd heard Nigel saying they want to hold on to the intruder to ask him some questions. His father exchanged a glance with the dark-haired man, who now had a small grin on his face. He started to apologize for his son's behavior, but Nigel waved it off.

"Actually, he did us a good turn today. Lied like a champ, he did. Did it so well, the old windbag immediately bought it. Saved us a fair bit of headache with the locals."

Malcolm's father frowned slightly, but nodded his acknowledgement. When they left, Nigel walked him down to the embassy kitchen. Watkins and a couple of other men were sitting around the large table. "I meant what I said earlier. Good work." He paused, looking down at the boy. "Well, I imagine you're a bit bored with the place already… and you have shown your, er, discretion. If you're really curious about what we're doing here, I can answer some of your questions."

After that day, Malcolm was no longer bored hanging about the embassy. As he'd guessed, Watkins, Tibbs, and the other men were part of a protective detail under the command of Leftenant Nigel Forbes. The social unrest in Burkina Faso was intense enough that the home office decided to beef up the security without being obvious about it. Nigel had already done a tour with the Special Air Services group, and when offered the new assignment accepted it as a chance to do something completely different.

Malcolm often accompanied Nigel and the others as they patrolled the grounds. He was careful not to ask too many questions, but he listened intently to the answers. He spent many afternoons in the kitchen, where the soldiers congregated when not on patrol. Nigel explained that it helped keep them out of sight and out of mind, since people tended to ignore what happened in the servants' areas.

Over time, the soldiers grew used to 'the kid' being around. For the most part, Malcolm just sat quietly and listened to the conversation. Partly it was because he knew they were more likely to speak freely if they forgot he was there – and what they had to say was often pretty interesting to a pre-teen boy. Part of the reason for his quiet was because he was afraid of wearing out his welcome. For now, at least, they accepted his presence, and he didn't really feel very welcome anywhere else. Eventually, he became a little more confident.

When Nigel mentioned something called 'PT drills' Malcolm looked at him in confusion. Nigel smiled at him and asked him if he wanted to come along. That was how he ended up joining a group of men in mis-matched running clothes, jogging around the compound at five in the morning. After the morning run, during which Malcolm was lapped several times, they adjourned to the gymnasium that previous inhabitants had installed in the basement of the embassy. The hand to hand combat drills were particularly interesting.

That afternoon, Malcolm was so sore he could barely move. But when Nigel, with a knowing smile, asked him if he was game for tomorrow, he said yes without even thinking. Over the course of the summer, Malcolm made a lot of progress, and was able to keep up on the morning runs by September.

Over time, he gradually came to realize that the protective detail really didn't mind him hanging around either. Sometimes he'd catch one of them telling a particularly ribald story, and they'd be watching him out of the corner of their eye, waiting to see his reaction. He accepted the teasing good-naturedly, mostly because the stories were usually funny.

When the tutor returned from holiday, Malcolm still went to exercise before his lessons, and then brought his homework down to the kitchen afterward. Sometimes Nigel would ask what he was studying, and occasionally offer his opinions. This led to some interesting conversations, especially when Nigel or one of the others had been stationed in one of the countries discussed in his social studies classes.

Not that their comments were always appropriate for inclusion in his essays.

By the end of his first year in Burkina Faso, he and Nigel had gotten into the habit of walking the grounds in the early evening and talking. Their conversations weren't always about homework, or his job. Sometimes they discussed things seen on the CNN news feed. Other times Nigel told stories about his family and how he ended up in the service. Malcolm's father was also forced to order new clothes for his son twice that year, as the regular exercise had him filling out as he grew taller. Nigel was a bugger about eating properly.

Malcolm didn't think much about his friendship with the soldier, even as he became something between a cool older brother and father figure. One time around Christmas, Nigel was talking about writing home to his Mum, his father having passed away years ago; it struck Malcolm that he knew more about his friend than his own father. Ordinarily, such a realization might have saddened him, but at the same time, he was very grateful for Nigel's friendship.

It was a few minutes after that when Nigel asked him what he wanted to do when he got older. Malcolm thought about the question, which he'd never had a good answer to before.

"What kind of schooling do you need to get into the SAS?" asked, looking up shyly.

Nigel just looked at him for a moment, smiling faintly. Then he looked away and began outlining the enlistment requirements.

Scene Break

_No,_ Malcolm thought to himself, _Nigel taught me better than that. If I don't have much time left, I need to make the most of it, don't I? Crying about it is not a good way to spend the remainder of my days. _He looked out across the grounds as they fell into deepening shadows. The first stars appeared as the sky faded from indigo to black.

His thoughts wandered back to Brimstone, asleep in his dormitory. _I need to get him used to accepting food from the others. That way when I kick it, poor little bugger won't starve to death._ He ignored the lump growing in his throat and focused on setting his priorities. He also realized that he'd already decided to stay at Hogwarts. He'd enjoyed the last two months more than anything he'd done since leaving Burkina Faso. The headmaster had assured him that refraining from using magic would not help his condition at this point. _I might as well learn what I can. Maybe I can help my fellow inmates a bit before I'm gone. _

He smiled grimly into the falling night. _I do know that things are going to be a little different. I don't have time to waste anymore._

A/N:

By popular demand – now you know who Nigel is. )

And another thank you to Runsamok for her grammatical expertise and flaw-catching!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 16

Malcolm was sitting alone on 'their' couch when his friends returned from dinner. He seemed a little pale, which wasn't too unexpected. After all, they'd seen Madam Pomfrey hand a note to Professor McGonagall before transfiguration, and she didn't even ask where he was after the bell rang. The boys reported he was laid out on his bed when they went to dinner.

Dinner conversation was quiet. A few of the second years next to them speculated about the Halloween Feast. For some reason, Draco Malfoy decided that this was a good day to demand that Annalise sit with the third year students. This time, she didn't even acknowledge his presence as the pale-haired third year student slowly turned redder and redder. Finally, he growled something under his breath and stomped off. Tobey made out just a couple of the words, but they were enough to make his eyes widen, and Perren had to grab his arm to make him stay in his seat.

The stocky boy was still grumbling about this when they returned to the common room. "Wish you'd been at dinner, Mal. Draco's being a git again," he whispered as he leaned forward.

Malcolm frowned as he rose to his feet. "I need to talk to you guys about something. Come on." He led them toward the boy's dormitories. A few people in the common room whispered as they all left together.

Once they were in the first-year's room, Malcolm sat on his bed, absently stroking Brimstone as he gathered his thoughts. The boys sat on the edges of their beds as the girls perched on one of the empty ones.

"Professor Flitwick," he began, "kept me after class today because he had an idea of why I was having so much trouble with my spell casting. Turns out my, er, magical core is unstable. If I'm upset or excited, the flow of magic reverses and the spell fails."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Patricia asked brightly, looking relieved. Malcolm was surprised that she'd been so concerned with his problem. "That means if you stay calm your magic should work, right?"

Perren and Tobey looked at him, curious about the answer. Annalise, on the other hand was staring at him with wide eyes. She seemed to have gone even paler than usual.

"Yes," Malcolm said slowly. "learning to stay calm and centered should give me a way to perform magic adequately. But the condition is getting worse, and will eventually prove, er, fatal."

He was obviously just reacting to the tension in the room, but Malcolm was surprised to feel Brimstone go rigid under his hands.

"You're having us on, right?" Tobey asked in a sick voice.

"Oh Malcolm," was all Patricia said.

"They- Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, they, they are going to do something, right mate?" Perren asked in a stammering voice.

Annalise didn't say a word. She just stared at him. He thought her shoulders shook slightly under her heavy robe, but he couldn't be sure.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he spoke again. "There really isn't anything they can do about it. It's a pretty rare condition, but they think I might have a couple of years before, er, it, happens."

The next he knew Patricia was on her feet and standing next to his bed. He stiffened slightly as she leaned over and hugged him fiercely. He awkwardly patted her back, but he could feel her breath hitching wretchedly as she struggled not to cry. A hand gripped his shoulder and he looked up to see Perren standing beside her, frowning worriedly. He turned as he felt Tobey sit down next to him. The blond-haired boy was frowning, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Finally, he reached out and scratched Brimstone behind the ears. The puppy leaned his head back into the boy's fingers, then turned and licked the edge of his hand.

Annalise, on the other hand, was standing beside her bed, a look of pure fury in her eyes. In spite of himself, Malcolm flinched back when he met her eyes. He couldn't recall ever seeing anyone so furious in his life. In a flash, her wand was in her hand.

"Anna, what are you-" he started to ask in a choked voice.

"Silence!" she snapped. "Wands out, all of you! I want a wizard's oath from each of you, right now!"

Patricia flinched and let go of Malcolm. "Annalise, why?" The tall girl was regaining some of her composure, but she was still taken aback by her friend's reaction.

"Each of you will swear not to repeat what he just told you, or I will see if I can successfully perform a memory charm without erasing your minds!" she snapped.

"Anna," Malcolm said, having finally recovered. She wouldn't look him directly in the eye. "What do the rest of us not know?"

"You will all swear the oath, because I don't want there to be any chance of this getting to Malfoy. He knows, Malcolm, that you reported him. I received an owl from his father yesterday, warning me to stay away from you. He doesn't want to risk that clumsy fool of a son accidentally hurting me and starting a feud with my family." She smirked bitterly as she pointed her wand upward. "I solemnly swear on my magic, not to reveal what I was just told, until Malcolm releases me from my vow."

One by one, each of his friends raised their wands and repeated the vow.

"There," Annalise said, sliding her wand back into her robes. "that should make it a little harder for someone to extract that information from us. Aside from accidental slips," she added, glaring at Perren, "it may provide some minor protection against magical means of interrogation."

Perren just stared at her. "I don't want to know how you know that, Dolohov."

"Do grow up, Hawkshorn," she replied with a sneer. "We're not in primary school anymore."

"Malcolm," Patricia interjected as Perren opened his mouth, "what are you going to do now? Are you going home to your family?"

Malcolm could feel everyone's eyes shift towards him. "Er, no. I'm going to stay here at Hogwarts."

She stared at him, clearly surprised. He felt a stab of guilt. Here they were, swearing wizarding oaths to keep his secrets, and he wasn't even being honest with them. "Well, my parents are both dead, and I don't know any of my other relatives. It's kind of a long story, but I don't have anywhere else to go really."

In a halting voice, he gave a rough outline of how he came to be at Hogwarts. The only detail he omitted was the secret of the name his father took to his grave.

"So you don't really know who your mother was?" Perren asked incredulously.

Malcolm shrugged. "I know her name was Catherine, but she died in childbirth. Father didn't like to talk about it."

"Well, we know she was a pureblood, as was your father," Annalise said thoughtfully.

"How do you…" Tobey began, but trailed off as she gave him a long-suffering look. "Nevermind, forgot where we're sitting."

"The hat suggested as much," Malcolm admitted.

"So," Patricia said in a speculative tone, "what are you planning to do?"

Malcolm shrugged again. "Keep taking classes and see what happens. Hogwarts beats most of my other options. Annoying Malfoy might even be entertaining if Annalise's information is correct. I do want to get Brimstone used to at least one of you feeding him. That way, if I… well, would one of you be willing to see to him?"

His friends all looked at each other as the implications of his question sunk in. He was making plans for what would happen after he died, and it was difficult for them, for a variety of reasons, to easily wrap their minds around that. Finally, Tobey cleared his throat. "Uh, mate, I think we'd all be willing to take care of the little bugger, provided he doesn't try to set us on fire."

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Thanks."

Scene Break

Malcolm felt a little odd as he returned to class the next day. He was a long time getting to sleep last night, and probably not just because of the nap he'd taken during the afternoon. They didn't speak, but he was pretty sure Perren and Tobey had been up a while as well. He'd skipped a couple of meals, so he tore into his breakfast, wondering why the food tasted so good to him. He realized after a while that it was probably because he was thinking about dying in the back of his mind.

He smiled a little grimly as he chewed on his bacon. _I suppose I'm not going to get to enjoy as many breakfasts as I thought I was, so I should make each one count._ He started to chuckle but the sound died as he looked over at Perren and Tobey. Instead he started to feel queasy.

Both boys were subdued, eyes red like they hadn't slept. Patricia was quiet as well, and he heard her sniff once. He started to wonder if it was a mistake to tell them. Only Annalise wasn't acting funny. She ate with her normal degree of regal disdain, for which he was grateful.

"We've got Herbology next today, right?" Malcolm finally asked. He knew very well what class they had, but he was desperate to divert their attention. Patricia started to say something, but just nodded.

"That is correct, Mr. Smith," Annalise finally said, her lip curling in annoyance.

"Good. Do you suppose I can borrow your Transfiguration notes from yesterday?"

She looked sidelong at him, and then nodded. "Yes, but you'll need her," she nodded at Patricia, "for Binns' class. She is the only one of us who can stay awake long enough to take notes."

Perren snorted in spite of himself. "Too true," he said, smirking.

Patricia turned toward him with a glare and one of their frequent arguments started. Tobey soon joined in, taking shots at either side as the opportunity presented itself.

Malcolm felt the knot in his stomach slowly unravel. "Thanks," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Annalise didn't say anything, but he thought she might have nodded slightly.

The air seemed particularly crisp that morning as they trudged out to the greenhouses. Professor Sprout had the class planting cuttings from last year's crop of Mandrake roots. Fortunately, the cuttings didn't have mouths with which to scream, so ear protection was not required.

Working together, they got through their stack quickly. Malcolm looked around after they were done, and saw that the boy and girl at the next table were still having trouble scraping holes in the dried out potting soil. He picked up the watering can off their table and walked over to the struggling Hufflepuffs.

"If you pour a little water in first, it's a lot easier for the trowel," he said quietly.

The blond-haired girl and the black-haired boy jumped and looked up at him. For a second they seemed almost afraid of him. The boy looked hesitantly from the girl to the watering can and back. Malcolm shrugged and stepped back. _I see our house reputation has struck again,_ he thought sourly.

"Er, sorry," the boy said at last. "I didn't think to try that." He picked up the can and poured some water over their current pot. The girl made an exasperated sound as the trowel finally started to dig in.

"Professor Sprout!" A voice called out from behind them. Malcolm looked over and saw one of the twin dark-haired boys who'd knocked Annalise out of their boat raising his hand.

"Yes, Marius?" Professor Sprout asked, bustling over from the other side of the greenhouse, where she was showing another group how the cuttings were processed.

"Anthony and Margaret are cheating. Those Slytherins showed them how!"

Malcolm felt his jaw drop as he spun toward the twins. The girl with the watering can made a huffing sound. Malcolm felt his face heat up, but Tobey looked around like he wanted something to throw at the two.

"Malcolm just suggested we wet the soil down a bit to make it easier to dig into," the blond-haired boy said.

"Professor told us to water it after we planted the cuttings!" Marius insisted in a stubborn tone.

"Now boys," Professor Sprout interrupted. "Let me see that pot." She took a pinch of soil between her fingers. "Yes, yes, it has dried out. Moistening it up a bit, prior to spading is acceptable, as long as you don't water it as much afterward." She looked back and forth between the students before her, the twins, and Malcolm's friends who were gathered back around their table, muttering darkly. She thought for a moment and nodded sharply. "Two points to Slytherin for a helpful suggestion." As the twins let out a gasp, she turned toward them. "I suggest you mind your own pots, Misters Benchley, there is not that much time left in the period."

Malcolm almost laughed out loud at the gob-smacked look on Tobey's face.

As the class ended and they trooped down to the Great Hall for lunch, Tobey was still pretty quiet. Finally, as they started eating, he had to ask.

"Why were you helping those 'puffs, Malcolm?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Didn't cost me anything to make a suggestion. Maybe they will have a chance to do me a good turn some day. I think sometimes that we focus too much on the houses. Just because they aren't in our house doesn't make them less than human or something."

"I'm not so sure the Benchley twins would agree," Perren chuckled.

"True," Malcolm allowed reasonably, "but then again we do have a reputation to overcome."

"You're serious about this, aren't you Malcolm?" Patricia asked.

"Yeah, I am." He sat for a minute collecting his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annalise had stopped eating and was looking at him expectantly. "It's been less than two months and I'm already tired of being one of the pariahs of Hogwarts. I'm not going to go along with acting like a prat because of the color of the crest on my robe." He leaned forward and spoke a little quieter. "Besides, it'll confuse the hell out of everyone and annoy certain upperclassmen we don't like."

Perren and Tobey looked at each other. "That's good enough for me," the said simultaneously. Patricia just smiled and even Annalise curled her lips into what was almost a smirk.

Scene Break

Over the next couple of days, they began to look for opportunities to break the mold. In potions, when one of the first year Gryffindors was out sick, Malcolm left his friends to work with the girl who was left without a partner. Since there were an odd number of Slytherins, Professor Snape always allowed them to work with three people at one cauldron. It wasn't until well into the quarter that Malcolm learned, to his disgust, that the potions master didn't allow any students outside his house to do that.

The dark-haired girl looked up, her dark eyes wide, as Malcolm set his bag down on the bench next to her as professor Snape walked in. He glared down as Malcolm pulled out his textbook and his scales. "Mind if I work with you today?" he asked quietly. I'd at least get to see the cauldron for once." He and Tobey usually shared a cauldron with Annalise, and she had absolutely zero confidence in their ability to add ingredients and stir with the proper precision. The fact that Patricia didn't allow Perren to do any more than chop and prepare their ingredients didn't make it any better.

The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but since they were working in pairs on this assignment, there was no way he could sabotage her potion without hurting his own grade. She nodded curtly and he set to work copying down the ingredients on a scrap of parchment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Professor Snape staring at him from his desk. Evidently, the man couldn't come up with a valid pretext for making him move, because he kept silent as they worked. As Malcolm went to the storage cabinets to retrieve some viper gall, he also noticed the Gryffindors eyeing him cautiously. It amused him how one simple act of his had two-thirds of the room on pins and needles.

The potion wasn't that difficult to brew, a simple salve used to treat sore muscles and mild abrasions. As it cooled and gelled, he and his partner each filled a vial and labeled it for grading. As they began cleaning the bench, the girl finally introduced herself.

"I'm Romilda Vane," she said quietly.

"Malcolm Smith," he replied.

"I – I wouldn't have fancied trying to brew this one by myself today," she stammered.

"Sometimes a little change is a good thing," Malcolm said, shrugging it off as no big deal. Instead of immediately trying to banish the contents of their cauldron, as the others were doing, he ladled a good portion of the brew into a flask he pulled from his bag. Romilda raised her eyebrows at this but didn't comment.

"This sounds like a useful thing to keep on hand," he whispered.

As they finished tidying up, Professor Snape cleared his throat and the students began making their way to the front of the room to turn in their work for grading. He and his partner placed their vials on the rack at the edge of his desk. No sooner had they turned than there was a crash of glass on the floor behind them.

Everyone was looking at the front of the classroom where Professor Snape had a disgusted sneer on his face. "Miss Vane, you would do well to exercise _some_ care in how you place the vials with your assignments on the rack. That is, if you don't wish to waste your time and effort on receiving a zero."

It took all of Malcolm's self control to keep his face impassive as Romilda's face went red and she began blinking rapidly. The bastard finally figured out a way around him to penalize the Gryffindor. Several of Romilda's housemates were visibly upset, some glaring daggers at Malcolm, one of them saying something under his breath that gave Snape pretext to dock another five points from Gryffindor.

Malcolm started to get angry, but then smirked. He tapped the frustrated girl on the shoulder and motioned toward their workbench. As the angry students began clearing out, he poured some of the cooling salve into another vial for her to label. "Don't let on that I saved some," he whispered to her as they worked, their robes blocking Snape from seeing what they were doing, "If he asks, just let on like the older students warned you Gryffindor potion assignments tended to have a lot of accidents."

She looked at him curiously, but just nodded. Several of her classmates started grinned when they saw her with another vial. Malcolm made sure he was out of the room before Mount Snape erupted.

At lunch, Tobey and Perren had a good chuckle over the look on Professor Snape's face. Even Patricia looked impressed. Malcolm hadn't done a single thing he could be punished for; if the potions teacher complained, he wouldn't find many sympathetic ears among the rest of the school staff.

At their first flying lesson, Madam Hooch spent most of the time watching the Slytherin students. He supposed she was justified in some paranoia, given what he knew about their predecessors. She also spent a lot of time going over the basics, which Malcolm didn't mind. His friends, of course, were all familiar with broom riding. As he looked down at the broom at his feet, he felt a bubbling excitement at actually being able to fly. As a result, the ruddy thing didn't even twitch when he called out "Up!".

Malcolm let out a disgusted sigh and tried to force down his emotions. When he felt calm again, he reached out over the broomstick and called out "Up!". This time the broom fairly leapt off the ground, slapping into his palm. He looked around at the rest of the class, wondering if anyone had noticed his broom's odd behavior. He needn't have worried. Many of them appeared to be muggle-born and had difficulties getting their broom to move at all.

Most of his friends looked bored, but they stuck with Madam Hooch's lesson plan, first idling a few feet above the ground, then following her in a big line as she led them slowly around the school grounds. Malcolm noticed her glancing at the Slytherin students from time to time, her eyebrows furrowed. He wondered what the previous years had done in her class to make her so cautious, but then decided that he really didn't want to know.

A/N:

There's more than one way to be a subversive!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 17

Malcolm frowned as he read the announcement tacked up on the message board. The board fixed to the rear wall of the common room didn't see a lot of use, but today a parchment affixed with a sticking charm announced that a Slytherin-only dueling club would be conducted on Sunday evenings, starting in November. He wondered what this entailed as he followed his friends down to breakfast.

Most of the table conversation was dominated by the Halloween Feast. The holiday fell on a Sunday this year, coinciding with the first Hogsmead visit for the older students. Hogsmead was only for third years and up, but the food and decorations in the Great Hall were said to be incredible each year.

Malcolm found it a little difficult to get excited about a meal, but he enjoyed watching Perren and Tobey repeat stories they'd heard from the older students. He frowned as he thought about the announcement he'd read earlier.

"Is something the matter, Malcolm?" Patricia asked with a note of concern in her voice. The boy repressed a sigh. His friends tended to do that whenever he frowned or expressed any kind of discomfort. He supposed they were just worried about his condition, but there were times he wished he'd never told them. The feeling intensified when he realized that Tobey and Perren had immediately gone silent.

"I'm fine, I'm just wondering about this dueling club."

"I heard there was one last year, but open to all the students," Tobey volunteered.

"Heard it was a bit of a joke, really," Perren scoffed. "That Lockhart bloke proved to be a quite a fake. Professor Snape cleaned his clock without even trying."

"At least the new Defense Professor seems to know his business," Patricia added, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Still, he's a bit of an odd duck," Perren frowned.

Malcolm found himself agreeing. Professor Lupin taught his classes in a no-nonsense style that was still a bit warmer than Professor McGonagall. He emphasized the practical aspects in every lesson, reinforcing the positive impression he'd made on the students during the dementor attack. The first year students were still drilling on basic defensive charms and how to recognize the most common varieties of dark creatures. Since learning about his condition, Malcolm's spell work improved drastically – as long as he was able to master his emotions. When he was in control, only Annalise was faster.

On the other hand, the threadbare professor gave him the creeps.

Every class he attended, Malcolm swore he could feel the man's eyes on him more often than not. It wasn't that he favored them more or less than the Gryffindors they shared the class with; in fact he was scrupulously fair. This was even more surprising after one of the Gryffindors let slip that Lupin had been in their house when he attended Hogwarts, somewhere around the dawn of time from the look of him. It was a source of increasing embarrassment to Malcolm that his own head of house was the only professor to demonstrate an extreme bias.

Nonetheless, he still felt like he and his friends were being closely observed during their lessons. He had no idea why this was happening, other than the fact that they were Slytherins. Not for the last time, he cursed the sorting hat that stuck them into that nest of vipers in the dungeons.

Malcolm shook his head in irritation and stabbed his fork into a piece of bacon. "He's a weirdo, but if he teaches us something we can use on Sundays, I don't care."

"Malcolm, surely you don't want to be dueling? You're just a first year!" Patricia's eyebrows had leapt up almost to her hairline.

"I didn't see a sign-up sheet, did you?"

"You mean-" Perren's eyes were wide and he couldn't complete his question.

Malcolm swallowed his bacon and nodded. "I imagine it's compulsory. I know it will be for me."

Everyone looked at him in confusion except Annalise. She just shook her head. "Are you really so naïve? Certain parties," she glowered, "want some payback, and here is a perfectly legitimate opportunity to do so."

"Are you always this paranoid?" Perren asked plaintively.

"Do grow up, Hawkshorn," Annalise growled. Malcolm had to swallow to keep from chuckling. She used that line on him at least once a week, and it never failed to get a rise out of him.

"Shut it, you," Perren snarled at Tobey who was unable to keep himself from laughing. They started wrangling, but stopped when Malcolm spoke again.

"I'm not sure if she's paranoid or not," he said speculatively, "but this would present an opportunity. Clausewitz said you have to plan around the enemy's capabilities, not his intentions."

"Who was this Clausewitz bloke? Was he a war-mage?" Tobey asked curiously.

"Military strategist, he wrote 'On War'. He was a muggle in the Prussian army," Malcolm said absently as he poured HP sauce on his eggs. He didn't know how the kitchen managed to stock the stuff, but he wasn't going to complain. Annalise let out a derisive sniff and Malcolm stiffened. He turned and glared at the blond girl. "You know Dolohov, I'm quite aware of your opinion of muggles, but could you please stop flaunting your ignorance, it's spoiling my appetite." He didn't really understand why her attitude got on his nerves so much at times, especially when he usually found her arrogance amusing, but this was not one of those times.

He was a little surprised to see her head snap around like she'd been slapped, and all conversation at their end of the table abruptly died. Two points of color appeared on her cheeks as her eyes narrowed in fury. She opened her mouth, but Malcolm raised his hand as she inhaled. "Let's discuss this in private, unless you want to share with your _friend_ Malfoy."

Annalise shut her mouth with a snap and stabbed her fork into her breakfast. The vicious manner in which she attacked the rest of her food made the skin between Malcolm's shoulder blades crawl. "Anna," he said in a low voice. "in the dorm, after transfiguration?"

The blond girl did not acknowledge him, but did begin eating in a somewhat more normal manner. Malcolm likewise focused on his food. He didn't need to look up to know that his friends across the table were staring at them.

If the truth were to be told, Malcolm spent more time that day thinking about what he was going to say than he did on his class work. He knew his audience was really more than just Annalise. His friends weren't bigots, but they were still brought up to think of muggles as inferior beings; at best pitied because they had no magic and at worse looked upon as little more than vermin. He had a bad feeling about this 'dueling club' and hints of other things he'd seen going on between the older Slytherins. He had a few ideas for how they could deal with that, but he had to address this muggle nonsense first.

There was still an hour before dinner when everyone sat down in the first year boys' dormitory. Malcolm suppressed a smile as everyone seemed to want to hear what he had to say. Most just looked curiously at him, but Annalise's eyes were like chips of blue stone. He needed to address that first.

"Alright," he began, not even noticing as he started to pace, "I need to start off with an apology. Annalise, I was rude and I should not have started this discussion where I did."

The girl blinked, but then her eyes narrowed. He hadn't apologized for what he said, just the way in which he'd said it. "But you still claim I am ignorant?" she asked in a glacial tone.

Malcolm sighed. "Who was the first wizard to travel to the moon?"

"You can't apparate to the moon, it's just not possible," Perren interjected. "No one has enough power to go that far!"

Malcolm just shrugged and smiled. "Muggles went there about thirty years ago." He almost wished he had a pin left over from transfiguration, that way he could have dropped it to see if it made a noise.

"You're barmy," Tobey scoffed.

"Look it up, or go ask the Muggle Studies teacher if you don't believe me. Bunch of Yanks went up there in a giant rocket more than a decade before any of us were born. A wizard with a wand is dangerous, but a Muggle armed with a gun can kill you by just twitching his finger. The worst Muggle weapons… well, picture a device about the size of your body that can generate a burst of heat that could incinerate Diagon Alley and most of central London in less than a second."

His words had produced their desired effect. His friends were staring at him now, mouths hanging open in shock. "When you get right down to it, the Statute of Secrecy is less about protecting the poor muggles from Wizards and Witches than it is about protecting the wizarding world from muggles who outnumber us thousands to one and possess technology that in some ways surpasses magic."

"That said," Malcolm continued, "we do have some advantages. There are a few things magic does better than technology. More importantly, we can use technology, while muggles can't do magic at all. Even potion brewing has processes that require some magical ability to perform. But I can pick up a telephone, hit the right combination of numbers, and talk to someone on the other side of the world. If we ignore things, if we just say "oh, it's just a silly muggle device", then we are limiting ourselves to only one world when we can have two. I'm not even convinced," he waved his hands around, "that this is the stronger of the two."

Malcolm abruptly sat back down on his bed. He watched the emotions play across the faces of his friends and wondered if he'd pushed them too hard. They were still young, but from what he could see children matured much earlier in the Wizarding world, compared to the Muggle world. He'd given them a lot to digest, and he hoped they didn't choke on it. He didn't want to lose his friends, but he had a feeling that he didn't have a lot of time to waste.

"So," Perren asked, breaking the silence. "Who was this Clausewitz bloke again?"

Scene Break

The first year Slytherins were quiet as they filed into the Great Hall for their evening meal. Malcolm was glad that it was at least a thoughtful silence, rather than the uncomfortable one that surrounded them at lunch. _I'm not sure why I'm pushing them so hard_, he mused, _but I think it's going to be important. And I think it's going to be soon… or am I just projecting my own anxiety? Maybe I'm just worried that **I** don't have much time._ He took a deep breath as the plates filled with food. _Maybe so,_ he admitted to himself, _but better to err on the side of doing it too soon, rather than too late._

"I know I pushed you lot quite a bit today," he said quietly.

"Malcolm," Patricia said in her 'peacemaker' voice, "we can tell it's a fairly sore topic with you. Can you, uh, tell us why it bothers you so much?"

Malcolm noticed everyone's utensils pause after the auburn-haired girl's voice trailed off. He thought for a moment. He'd spent a lot of his life alone, and he was used to thinking, but all the things going on since he came to Hogwarts hadn't left him much time to be introspective. When he did have a spot of time to sort through things, concerns about his friends and his own mortality tended to dominate his thinking.

"I'm not completely sure," he answered honestly. "This… prejudice bothers me. I don't want my friends to be close-minded like the rest of our house. I… don't like the position we are in. I think the narrow-mindedness the others have is a weakness, one I don't want to share in. I think… we're going to need any advantage we can get here." All the paranoid feelings he'd been accumulating since he was sorted made him shudder a little. Something was wrong here. Some of the older students acted like they were just wearing masks, waiting for something, some sign. He felt as cold and alone as he'd been since waking up in the hospital in Burkina Faso. He put his fork down, his appetite gone.

The other first years exchanged glances as Malcolm's face went pale. Patricia fidgeted like she wanted to get Madam Pomfrey. Tobey and Perren just frowned at each other. They'd never seen Malcolm look… almost scared… like that before.

"Well, if there is a strategic reason," Annalise drawled, a sneer marring her pale features, "then I suppose your bohemian sensibilities may be excused."

Malcolm's head jerked up and he turned toward the blond girl, lips pursed. "I suppose if you were to ever give me a break the world would come to a bleeding halt," he said peevishly.

"I'm here to get an education, Smith, not coddle you."

"So why Hogwarts, didn't you say most of your family went to Durmstrang?" Malcolm didn't know why the question popped out of his mouth. He'd wondered about it one evening, listening to her and Patricia talking, but he knew she didn't like prying questions, especially from him.

The girl's eyebrows went up. Evidently she didn't expect the question either, which may be why she answered it. "My uncle doesn't confide in me when he makes decisions regarding my future," she said coldly. "But I imagine he desires more influence in British wizarding affairs. He's made overtures toward the Malfoys, and I imagine I was sent here to see if my presence can entice the Malfoy heir and drive a wedge between the Malfoy and Parkinson families." Several people around her winced slightly at the word 'entice'.

"That's remarkably fucked up," Malcolm replied, for once drawing on the vocabulary he picked up from Nigel and the security detachment.

"Malcolm, language!" Patricia scolded, even as Perren snickered. Malcolm noticed that Tobey just had a sick look on his face. _Evidently what she described isn't that unusual._

"So why aren't you over there 'enticing' the git?" Perren asked bluntly.

"Hawkshorn, as I have previously stated, my uncle does not confide in me. I can merely make educated guesses, and he has not ordered me to do anything with regard to that situation. Perhaps he hopes that my reactions will be more convincing if… things… happen on their own."

"Obviously, he did not reckon on Draco's enormous personal charm," Malcolm said dryly.

"No," she frowned, "I imagine Uncle will be somewhat… disappointed." She shook her head after a moment, sending blond hairs cascading over her shoulders. "Have I satisfied your curiosity regarding my family's politics?"

Malcolm replied in a clipped formal tone he heard Nigel use when making reports, "You have, Miss Dolohov. Thank you for your gracious assistance in this matter." That set Tobey and Perren to snickering again and everyone resumed eating.

Malcolm found that his appetite had returned. He found himself occasionally glancing at Annalise as he ate. Had she done that on purpose?

A/N:

A bit longer between updates this time. Had to do some work on my outline, rough as it is, and sort out some plot complications on my timeline. I hope the update pace will pick back up again now.

Answers to questions:

I'm not an Australian, but yes, they do sell Vegemite in the US if you know where to look. I imagine that Men At Work song (Land Down Under) stirred up a bit of interest a while back. Malcolm has had a chance to try a wide variety of foods at embassy functions, and we'd both agree that Vegemite is _definitely_ an acquired taste.

Yeah, John Ringo is a hoot. I got to meeting him and several authors at DragonCon in 2004, and he was definitely the life of several of the author panels. His favorite tagline was: "Good writers create, great writers _steal_." (Given how the most creative work is often re-combining cultural and dramatic elements into new configurations, this really rings true.)

PS – If anyone sees a canon-botch, please let me know. I'm working to keep this one hundred percent in canon for Prisoner of Azkaban as a writing exercise, so let me know how I'm doing. -Matthew


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